Fractured Dreams
by LordSarek
Summary: Spock never was the same after Pike's death. AU. Past Spock/Pike. Slowly developing Kirk/Spock. McCoy Spock friendship. Alternative Universe where Pike and Spock were together and after Pike's death, Jim bonded with Spock to stabilize his mind. Prompt of a friend. Drabble.
1. Fractured Dreams

_"New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings."_ **\- Lao Tzu**

He could not sleep. Never could. Not since his death. If he closed his eyes, he dreamed of him, his grey eyes, his gentle touch, life leaving him. Fast - oh so fast.

Broken promises and fractured dreams and he was in between.

"Where the hell were you?" Kirk demanded to know, as Spock entered his quarters at 0200. "Shit, sweetheart – we talked about it - you can't just _wander off_ like that."

"I am functional," Spock said – voice devoid of any emotions. He could see a flash of anger on Kirk face, could feel it through their bond – hot and burning. However anger was better than worry, better than fear, better than Kirk's pity.

"Spock-"

He did not answer but curled up at his side of the bed.

Christopher was not in his dreams that night. He slit his throat out in the desert and a pair of le-matyas ate his remains.

* * *

His mind was screaming. Even months after he died, his mind was screaming for him. Always screaming for him. The place where the bond to him should be was now a gaping, bleeding hole. His mind was bleeding out. It was bleeding out-

"Eat."

It hurt. It hurt so much. He was gone. He was gone and he never would come back again. He could not live so alone like _this_. He could not...not without him. Never without him.

"Eat, sweetheart. C'mon! One bite? For me?"

He barely registered the deep voice talking to him.

"Spock?"

It was familiar. The voice was familiar. He knew that voice. He knew that accent. American. Iowan. Kirk.

"Spock! For god's sake do you even listen to me? Eat!"

He slowly became aware of his surroundings. The mess hall. It was nearly empty. He could not recall how he got there.

"Jim, give him a fucking break!" Another voice. Rougher. Deeper. Also American. But not Iowan. Georgian. McCoy. Doctor McCoy.

"Fine, Bones - if you want to side with him! Do it! If he wants to starve himself - good! But don't except me to stand by and watch!" Kirk snarled angrily and stood up abruptly.

"I can stand up for myself," Spock said, as the irritated captain had left.

"But you don't," McCoy said, and the look on his face was like concern, was like sorrow. "You just…don't." He paused and sighed. "Look Spock, Jim didn't mean it, okay? He's just worried about you..."

"He should not be."

"He's your husband now. It's only natural that he's concerned."

"I did not ask for his concern." He did not. He did not ask for his help. He did not ask for a new mate. He did not ask to be bonded to that man. However it seemed that his opinion, his wishes, his consent did not matter. Maybe never mattered.

"It doesn't work this way, Spock."

But it should.

* * *

He woke up to Kirk's face, sleepless and stressed, staring down at him. "Spock," Kirk said, and there was an edge on his voice, rigid, waiting, expecting things to fall apart. He reached out for the Vulcan but in the last moment withdrew his hands, as if he knew his touch was not welcome. Never welcome.

"You almost died. You almost died down there. I knew you weren't ready. I fucking knew. I never should've let you..."

Spock looked at him. Only looked at him - with skin white like paper, like bandages, like regulation sheets. Skin pulled tight over pronounced cheekbones, eyes wide and empty.

"I'm sorry."

Spock did not know if Kirk apologized for his outburst or for saving his life.

He did not ask. Not that he cared anyway.

* * *

Kirk (always captain, sometimes James, never Jim, not anymore) - most of these days - did not seem quite sure what to do with him. He offered to listen to him, if he wanted to talk (Spock did not), he offered comfort (which Spock did not want either) but otherwise let him alone. He seemed to wait for some sort of reaction of Spock. Maybe he expected Spock to get angry at him, like the day his mother died and his home was destroyed.

He was so angry then. The anger compromising him. Crippling him. Consuming him.

But now he was not.

Spock was not sure where all the anger had gone. Buried deep, maybe. Maybe Christopher took it with him, as he went where Spock could not follow.

Where Kirk did not allow Spock to follow.

Kirk. Always Kirk. Selfless, kind, merciless, cruel Kirk.

Maybe the anger was all gone. Entirely gone. Drained right out like lancing an infected wound; Spock, the half-Vulcan. Fixed now. Everything was in order. Everything was perfect. He was perfect. Except when he was not.

His father would have been proud. Maybe. He would never know.

His father like his mother was dead, driven to suicide by her loss. Spock still could recall the immense agony as another primary bond was ripped out of his skull.

Suicide. Illogical. It was illogical.

Then why did Spock envy him so much?

* * *

He was woken by screams. Someone was screaming. Screams of agony. Screams of pain.

Make them stop. Please, someone make them stop!

"Come on, Spock, wake up…it's alright…I've got you. Just wake up.."

He felt disoriented. Weak. Weak and cold. Since Christopher's death, he felt so cold. His whole body shook. Shook like his mind. It hurt. Pain. He was gasping for air, heaving. The screams continued. His stomach churned. He felt sick. He was going to be sick.

"Shhhh sweetheart. I'm here. I'm here, darling, I'm right here."

The world began to move. He was pulled against another body and two rough, human hands, wandered under his tunic – _not his tunic, not his, Christopher's_ \- and then pressed into the skin of his stomach. _~Safesafe… lovefriend..you'resafe… I'vegotyousweetheart...Gotyou … keepyouwithme…friendlove …love…safe…alwayskeepyouwithme..willprotectyou… alwaysprotectyou.._

"Rai! Sanu! Rai!"

He tried to get away from the skin to skin contact. Tried to get away from these thoughts which weren't his own but those hands did not let him.

"Shh, Spock. Everything's alright."

The screams did not stop.

" Shhh…I'm here…I'm here…calm down, it's alright buddy! Calm down…"

The warm…no hot… hands were touching him, soothing him. They were familiar but not _his_. They could not be _his_. Because he was _gone_. Long gone. No one except him was allowed to touch him. He flinched violently, tried to fight the unwelcome touch but the hands did not withdraw, they only tightened their grip.

"Shh…you're safe…it's alright. You're safe…I've got you.. Don't cry…I've got you…"

He woke in the dim light of Kirk's quarters, the captain's sturdy body pressed tightly against his back, murmuring the same words over and over again and suddenly he realized - he had allowed himself to be deceived.

These were not screams of pain.

 _Someone_ was keening.

And that someone was him.

* * *

"Why again did I force Spock into this, Bones?" Kirk asked with a frustrated growl. He slouched in the chair in front of the doctor's desk and looked expectantly up at him as if McCoy could actually answer that question. "I never wanted Spock to end up like this. It defeats the whole purpose of our marriage…"

"Bond," the doctor interrupts him. "It's called a bond."

"Whatever. The thing is - he isn't getting better. Our 'bond' should stabilize him, not making everything worse…"

McCoy, sat down in front of Jim and poured himself a glass of Saurian Brandy. "You're an idiot for ever thinking that bonding with Spock would fix everything, especially when you forced him into said bond. You bonded with him against his will. You knew about the consequences, I told you about them, M'Benga told you about them – twice. You knew that he would despise you – I certainly can't blame him for that - but you did it anyway."

"I didn't have another option. He would have died if I…"

"I know…but that doesn't make it right…not in Spock's eyes at least…"

"I won't apologize for saving his life."

"No one asks you to do that, kid. Look, Jim…" McCoy said, before draining his glass. "Spock's as much of a stubborn ass as you are. Our Vulcan won't give Pike up just because he's dead. He loved him and Vulcans don't give their hearts away easily. They mate for life. He expected to spend his life with Pike. Then from one moment to the other, Pike was gone and Spock had again to deal with the emotional and mental trauma of losing one of his primary bonds. A trauma which also affected – still affects – him physically. You can't expect him to get over it quickly. You're stupid for ever thinking differently."

"What I'm supposed to do, Bones? He hates me. He fucking hates me. Whenever I touch him he looks as if he would get sick any moment and …fuck… sometimes he even looks scared. The worst part is that I know he needs the contact. He gets … better when I touch him. He needs it but he doesn't want it and I …"

"Give him time. He'll come around."

"What if not?"

"He will. I thought you don't believe in no-win scenarios?"

"I didn't."

"Didn't?"

"I'm not so sure anymore."

* * *

McCoy and Kirk argued. Spock slept; tried to sleep caught between nightmares and pain - to weak to live but to strong to die and said ' _I cannot do this'_ in his head until the words were meaningless.

"That's it. We are getting him a collar with a bell."

"That's not fucking funny, Bones!" Kirk didn't bother to keep his voice down. "Where did you found him this time? Hmm? Pike's old quarters again? The labs?"

"Knock it off, you drama queen. Spock's an adult, if he wants to take a walk around the ship then…"

"No, he's fucking not allowed to do that! Not when he's still sick, not in the middle of the night, not after you showed me all those goddamn reports about those Vulcans suicides...Look at him, Bones. I'm serious, look! This isn't what…"

"Jim, c'mon …."

Spock never heard Kirk reply.

His body ached. His mind screamed. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

McCoy sat with him until the early morning hours, speaking to him in a low voice, trying to help to get his breathing under control, rubbing his back in soothing circles - his hands strangely cautious - like Spock might dissolve any minute.

* * *

Dizzy.

"Shore leave. Finally. I can't remember the last time I slept or ate something."

He felt dizzy.

"Do you want to go to the mess, sweetheart? I'm fucking starving!"

Unsteady.

"We could beam down on Bajor and join the others. Scotty can't shut up about their groatcakes and the ratamba stew. I think there's no meat in it, at least in the groatcakes, so you could …"

Barely there.

"Sweetheart?"

Someone was talking to him.

"Spock?"

Kirk. It was Kirk.

"For god's sake.."

Kirk stopped in the middle of the empty corridor and turned around to face Spock. "Were you like this before him?" he asked. "Or do you just not have any personality left when he's gone?"

Spock did not answer and walked past him, ignoring his question as if he did not hear them. He did not want to talk about _him_. Not with Kirk. Not with anyone.

Why Kirk did not understand? Was it not enough that he was reminded of his loss every passing day? Was it not enough to feel the pain of their broken bond, a constant reminder of said loss? A gaping hole on the right side of his head, which not even the new – oh so loathed - bond to Kirk could mend?

"Spock, I asked you something!"

Suddenly a broad hand, griped his arm and he was spun around, forced to look into Kirk's blue, angry eyes. Even through his tunic, his touch burned. Spock flinched violently.

"Do not…"

"Fuck. I…sorry." Kirk did not sound like he meant it but he released him, hands held up in the air in the human gesture of harmless intent. Spock took a few shaky steps backwards, until his back hit a smooth surface. Breathing hard. The whole room was spinning around him.

"You loved him too. Loved him like a child his father," he pointed out, trying to remain upright. He could barely make out Kirk before him. His face nothing than a blur.

"That doesn't fucking excuse it," spat Kirk out, invading his personal space, caging him against the wall.

"I remember back before Khan, even after Nero, you had opinions—hell, you'd fight back when I pushed you, and now it's like you've got a fucking lobotomy."

"You do not know what it was like to lose him… to lose _them_."

"You're right! I don't! Because you don't fucking talk to me, Spock! I need you to talk," Kirk's angry voice, suddenly softened until it was nothing more than a plea. "Please, Spock, talk to me, yell at me, I don't care. Just stop shutting me out. I'm scared, okay? _Scared._ For you."

"There is," Spock said plainly. "Nothing to say."

* * *

He was slipping. Slipping away.

He was aware of it. Could feel it happening every day.

He was aware of it but it seemed he was not the only one.

Doctor McCoy and Kirk were watching him. Always watching. Like he was a child in the need to be watched over. Spock could feel it, one of them keeping an eye on him almost all the time. He was not sure if they expected him to snap or to break. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

They were watching. He was slipping.

It was harder to get up every morning, it was harder to stay awake, harder to get through the day. Harder to fulfil his duties as Kirk's first and science officer, when the pain of Christopher's loss was a steady presence in his mind. When it was a constant companion. A companion he never would get used to.

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Agony. And everything was … harder.

Just – harder.

He was making more and more mistakes. He could not fulfil his duties - his performance on a steady downward spiral. That was inacceptable. He had become a liability to Kirk, to doctor McCoy, to every one who served on this ship. He was worthless, useless, replaceable and one day he was going to get someone killed.

Presumably himself.

Would it be that bad?

He should pull himself together. He should resign. But -

Everything was just so hard and he was just so tired _._ And he missed _him._ Missed his mind (warm - oh - so warm, like Vulcan's lost desert; he never would feel warm again – not with him gone, never with him gone), his voice (deep, oh so deep; ' _I love you, darling'_ it said, had said; never would say again), his laughter (so full of life, filling Spock with content and love and light), his touch (gentle but firm and _safe_ , always safe; a safety he would never experience again), his kisses (soft and rough and hard and everything in between). He never thought he would miss human kisses, of all things.

But he did.

He missed _his_.

Spock missed being kissed. He could exactly remember the first time, they had kissed. It had been the year after he had graduated at the Academy. It was a particularly hard winter on Terra and Christopher had insisted to accompany him home after one of Spock's first lessons as an instructor. He had wanted to make sure he got home safely. Christopher always had feared for his safety, no matter that Spock as a Vulcan possessed the strength of three human men. It was illogical, but Christopher had been illogical in so many ways, always treating Spock as if he was something precious, something in the need of protection – something _fragile_. Strangely Spock never had minded.

The city had been shining as they had made their way trough San Francisco's crowded streets, full of lights and snow and noise; heavy snowflakes falling down on their shoulders and heads, until Spock's dark hair was white instead of it's usual black. He still could remember how hard he was shivering. He should have been cold but strangely he was not. The only thing he could think about had been Christopher's presence near by, his mind reaching out for him, drawing him in, wrapping himself around Spock's like a warm blanket of safety and light and as they had arrived at Spock's apartment complex, the human had put an arm around his waist, had drawn him into a small alley between two buildings, had pressed a surprised Spock against the next best wall and without a further word - had kissed him. Hard.

Spock had been barely able to breath in that moment, his heart had been raising and fluttering in his side and his mind suddenly had been filled with Christopher's love and devotion; his affection and desire. His thoughts so intense, their minds so drawn to each other, that he had felt lightheaded and would not have remained upright without the human's help. The human had apologized afterwards for his actions, only to kiss him again and again.

He could exactly remember the first time they had kissed but he could barely remember the last time.

The last time was a blur of a memory. At Starfleet headquarters, before Khan had attacked and it was very casual and calm – an obligatory gesture rather than an expression of affection and love. Christopher had been angry with him, for going along with Kirk's plan to save the Nibirans from the volcano eruption.

Now there would be no more kisses.

There could not be.

Because he was gone. They were all gone.

Why did you leave? Why did you all leave? Take me with you.

 _Please._

Take me with you!

His mind screamed for him. For them.

Take me with you!

There was no answer. There never was.

There was only silence.

Silence and pain.

* * *

The mess was crowded, as Kirk sat down beside the Vulcan, approximately 25 minutes after the end of Alpha shift, placing a tablet with an assortment of vegetarian dishes on the table. Kirk had also chosen pancakes, among other things which did not contain meat, like Spock himself had. The captain looked content, as he always did when faced with the possibility of nourishment. However instead of starting to devour his meal as usual, he studied Spock like he was trying to read his mind.

"You okay?" Kirk asked suddenly, his voice laced with concern and worry. Spock blinked at him and lowered his gaze, absently playing with his food.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment again? Just for the record, I don't know what I've done wrong this time but I'm sorry."

The Vulcan did not give a response and continued to pick at his food – until his whole-grain pancakes where nearly unrecognizable as such; his eyes glassy and his stomach suddenly revolting against the idea of taking a bite. Eye-rolling and shaking his head the human moved closer until he could see over Spock's shoulder, carefully avoiding to touch the Vulcan.

"Yes, give it to them! These evil, evil pancakes! They're all the same! They don't deserve better! Go drown them in maple syrup!"

Before Spock could react in any way Kirk poured the jug of maple syrup over his maltreated pancakes. The Vulcan looked at him, as if questioning Kirk's sanity. As if he was the one who barely clung to his sanity and not Spock. Ever since their first meeting Spock had questioned the human's mental state. Lieutenant Uhura had once described Kirk as single-minded sociopath who was nice to little girls and dogs. Spock disagreed. Kirk was definitely not a sociopath; Spock had observed him, had been touched by him often enough to know. However that did not mean that Kirk was entirely sane either.

"Are you trying to – I presume the correct Terran verb is – to cheer me up?"

"And if I am?" Kirk said, eyeing Spock like he was going to explode, just like McCoy always did. Spock wanted to tell them both that the time for exploding was past. He carefully placed his eating utensils on the table and faced Kirk.

"Captain…," he said quietly, and Kirk interrupted him instantly. "Jim. Spock, Jim. Your husband – remember?"

"James…", Spock started, ignoring Kirks dissatisfaction of choosing to use his full first name rather than his nickname. "I do not need your pity."

For a second, Spock thought Kirk would hit him. He was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed that he did not.

"Spock …"

The Vulcan stood up and left the captain. His meal untouched.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

The Vulcan snarled at Kirk who stood in front of Spock's side of the wardrobe and was holding a yellow command shirt in his hand. A yellow shirt - which according to smell and size was definitely not Kirk's. It was not his. It was not. It was Christopher's. Christopher's shirt which Spock had hidden deep in his closet in an irrational need to keep something, anything of his mate, even if it was only a piece of fabric.

"Spock…I…"

Spock did not listen to him and ripped the shirt out of his hands, breathing hard.

"This is not yours to wear! This is not yours!"

His head was spinning. There was not enough air but the Vulcan did not care. Kirk had taken enough. Spock would not allow him to take this. He could not allow him to take this.

"Spock, calm down! C'mon, sweetheart…"

Not this.

"Spock…hey…it's alright…," Kirk tried to soothe him and took a cautious step forwards, as if approaching a feral animal. Spock recoiled with his teeth bared. Normally he would have been appalled at his behavior, but strangely he did not care this time.

"Spock.."

Please do not take this.

"No-"

Spock felt recycled air whistling through his teeth as he bared them again, trying to be intimidating but failing miserably. He felt himself trembling, felt the harsh quality of the air grating his windpipe as he breathed too quickly, his respiration shallow. The air in his lungs burned, and his head ached and finally he had to crumple in surrender to the floor, like a broken doll with its strings cut, the yellow shirt still clutched close to his body as if it was his last lifeline. And suddenly there were strong arms wrapped around him and he was pressed against a broad chest and Kirk said: "Breathe with me. Come on, darling, breathe with me. You need to breathe. You're having a panic attack here and you've to breathe!" He fought Kirk weakly and with too little coordination and so the captain could subdue him with ease.

Spock choked in one breath. Then two. His lungs felt too tight. His whole body was shaking, like a palsy patient but he could not. He could not breathe. His control was slipping – he never had it to begin with. And Kirk, Kirk who could not leave anything alone, who took everything away, who saved him and made everything worse in the process, Kirk said: "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Whatever I did, I'm so fucking sorry…"

The Vulcan felt like he was choking on the air around him. Kirk made a strangled sound, and his voice dropped another octave. "I'm so sorry. I just – I want to fix it…I want to fix you, us. I want to – fuck, Spock, do you even know what it's like? I know you, I know you better than anyone, except Chris, I've been inside your head, your mind and …fuck you're my friend Spock, my best friend and I'm just watching you waste away and sometimes I think you don't even notice…"

His chest hurt. He coughed, weakly, continued to fight Kirk's hold – feeling small and pathetic. "Just tell me what to do, sweetheart," the captain said, and tightened his arms, and stroked through his hair and there was desperation and panic and fear and determination in his touch. ~ _Let me fix it, let me make it better. Please, let me make it better._

"Just tell me what to do."

I do not know. I do not know. How should I tell you when I do not know either?

"Just tell me, Spock and I'll do it…"

Too much. It was too much. "You cannot," Spock choked, all fight leaving him. "You cannot," and there was moisture slipping down his face, and he could not stop it and as Kirk pulled him even closer, Spock allowed the manhandling and did not protest as the captain tucked the Vulcan's face against his neck, murmuring empty words of comfort.

* * *

"I gave him something to calm him down and put him on medical leave until further notice," said McCoy in a low voice, as he came around the metal room divider which separated the living area and the bedroom of the captain's quarters, where Spock was sound asleep. However even in sleep the Vulcan looked tense and unhappy.

"Good..," Kirk's voice, even lower, half exasperated and half impatient and beyond tired, coming from the other side of the room divider, where the captain leaned against it, scrubbing a hand over his face to keep himself awake. It had been a long day and it had taken ages to calm the Vulcan down. Kirk was drained, his whole body screamed exhaustion.

"You can't keep agitating him that way, Jim. He's still in pain despite that I'm keeping him drugged up to his pointy ears with the most potent painkillers I have. The damage's physical, as much as it's telepathic. He's still labile - the bond to you isn't nearly as stabilizing him as we hoped for. He keeps deteriorating and his erratic behaviour is a clear sign for that. I've showed you the reports, Jim. Vulcans consider suicide illogical, but that hasn't stopped dozens of them from making attempts in the past two years. Spock's father only one example. Even years after Vulcan's destruction they still can't cope with the pain of the broken bonds. You've to be more careful with him…"

"I'm careful…what do you want, Bones? If this is another one of your lectures, then save it for another time."

"Jim…" McCoy said, concern and worry written on his face. "He's still so young for a Vulcan, just a child by his people's standards. He didn't even experience his first Pon Farr yet and lost his mother, his father, his bondmate and most of his people in roughly the space of one year. The only thing I ask you is to be patient with him."

"Pon Farr?"

"Time of mating. M'Benga and I talked to you about it before you bonded with Spock, remember?"

"Yeah…yeah…I do."

With one not so swift movement Jim pushed himself away from the metal wall, posture tense.

"Was that all?"

"Just be careful, okay? You've got all of us, and Spock has nobody anymore." McCoy glares at the back of Kirk's head. "It's just… it's not right, Jim, he's alone and he's dependent on you. He needs you and I know you and I know what you're thinking about. Even if our Vulcan doesn't like your link, resolving the bond would solve nothing. To the contrary it could kill him."

Kirk slowly turned around, his voice icy and his blue eyes burning with anger.

"He doesn't simply _'don't like'_ our bond – he hates it."

"Jim…"

"Do you never get tired of patronizing me?" The captain snapped.

"Not when you hurt people."

"I never wanted to hurt anybody. Damn it, Bones! I don't want to be responsible for everybody's happiness!" snarled Kirk, having trouble to keep his voice low, but Spock was heavily sedated anyway, he probably wouldn't wake up, no matter how loud their argument got. "And if this was an allusion to Carol then…"

„Then what?" McCoy growled.

"Oh fuck off, Bones…"

"Don't 'Bones' me and speak your fuckin' mind, Jim. Then what?"

"Do you know what it was like with Carol? No, you fucking don't. I gave her everything she'd ever wanted. I gave her my heart. And look what I got for it."

McCoy clenched his jaw, eyes darkened with anger. "Jim. You fucked up with Carol, okay? You fucked up with her from the beginning. I didn't say anything because I was glad that you were happy, believe me or not, but don't say you gave her everything, because all you ever did was take and as things got complicated you ran away. You're not the victim here, Jim - neither when it comes to Carol or to Spock – you knew what you signed up to in both cases. You knew it. You're not the victim and the soon you realize that the better." McCoy's anger was simmering, low and cold in his stomach but so was Kirk's.

"I'm not Jo…"

"What?"

"I'm not your daughter, which you can scold, because you think she has done something wrong. So shut the fuck up and stop treating me like a child!"

"Then, for god's sake, stop acting like one! Maturity, the way I understand it, means facing the consequences of your actions, to take responsibility. And sometimes I doubt, Kirk, you have matured at all in the last years. It seems the only thing you're good at is running away and that's not a very mature thing to do."

The barb had stung, and Kirk took a step backwards, clearly wounded by the doctor's harsh words.

"I won't run away this time."

"Good. I hope it. Not for yours but for Spock's sake."

With that, McCoy turned and walked away, leaving a speechless Kirk in the captain's quarter.

* * *

 _To be continued ..._


	2. Drowning Memories

There was a man in his dreams with grey eyes and grey hair. "Hey, darling…" he said softly and laughed – all wrinkles and genuine fondness and Spock's heart instantly beat faster.

They were surrounded by trees, branches heavy with snow, standing on the porch of Admiral Barnett's house, while Starfleet's annual Christmas party was taking place inside.

"Kirk seems to be quite smitten with Marcus's girl. If I didn't know about Kirk's commitment issues, I would say that she is the one."

"The one?"

"The one as in babies and marriage and settling down."

"Doctor Marcus would be a wise choice."

"Carol's a smart woman. Although Alexander Marcus as a father-in-law - that I wouldn't wish anyone…"

"Indeed…"

Pike came to stand behind Spock on the porch, wrapping both arms around the Vulcan's waist. Spock leaned back against the strong, warm body and closed his eyes.

"What're you doing out there? Too many people?"

"Positive."

The Vulcan was not interested in participating in Terran's Christmas drinking rituals neither was he terrible sociable. Crowds made him uneasy. So despite that he found the cold unbearable, he had drifted out onto the front porch, trying to escape the music, the accidental touches and the chatter.

"You know, you didn't have to come. I should've have known that a gathering of so many drunk people would make you uncomfortable."

"It was my wish to accompany you."

"And I want you to be comfortable and happy."

Christopher pressed a kiss to the skin visible on Spock's neck, where the collar of his Vulcan robes ended. "You're ice cold. You shouldn't be out there." The human tightened his hold around Spock's waist, being very in the personal space that only ever said human was allowed to invade.

"Speaking of - ever thought about marrying?"

Spock turned around and twisted further into the human's arms. Pike looped both arms over his back to drag him even closer.

"I've been betrothed before."

"What happened?"

"She chose someone else over me."

"She's an idiot."

Spock raised one eyebrow and the older man traced that slanted eyebrow with his fingers, before he pressed a Vulcan kiss to a white, cool cheek.

„She's an idiot…," the grey eyed man repeated. "Because she has seen a _diamond_ and she has _chosen_ glass."

With that words, Christopher cupped the Vulcan's face and kissed him the human way. It was too cold to be kissing outside. Spock was shivering hard, despite being so close to the human's warmer body – and yet - yet it was the best kiss Spock could ever remember having. Christopher tasted faintly of toothpaste, drowned under the scotch from the party and as he coaxed Spock's mouth open, the Vulcan couldn't help but utter a quiet moan.

"Stop molesting our little Vulcan, Chris and come inside! Both of you will catch your death out there!" someone, probably doctor Boyce, Christopher's best friend – yelled standing in the open door which led to Barnett's now snow-covered garden, and Christopher flipped him of with a grin, before kissing Spock again. The Vulcan repressed a silent chuckle, and nipped at his lower lip as an instruction to behave.

They didn't stop kissing for a long time, bathing in each others love until Boyce shooed them inside.

Now Christopher's kisses were only a memory. Nothing more than a dream.

* * *

He made a whining noise in the back of his throat, like a distressed Terran cat and felt himself shaking. That damnable shaking, that had been with him on and off since Vulcan's destruction and had only increased since Christopher's death.

"Shhh….sweetheart…shh…I'm here…"

There was a warm hand on his forehead and fingers against his psi points, coating them thickly in affection and fear; making him flinch. There was a voice speaking to him, low and soft - the way his father had spoken to him, when he was sick as a child.

"Go back to sleep…It's alright…I've got you…It's alright…"

* * *

"End it…You're no use to anyone. Your life is worth nothing..," the man said. His eyes were not grey but blue and his hair was not light but dark. There was no affection in his voice, only indifference. They were walking shoulder to shoulder through Vulcan's lost desert, rotting bodies sowing their way like some bizarre guardians. Despite their decaying state, Spock heard them screaming.

"Your dreams taste like despair and grief," the man said. "I don't know whether to be disappointed or pleased."

"You are not real," Spock said. "Kirk eliminated you."

"No and yes," John Harrison – Khan – answered smiling. "But that doesn't change anything. Tell me, Spock – what are you waiting for? What are you expecting? Some kind of miracle? Not even Kirk can cheat death. He can't bring Pike back. Neither can you. I _killed_ him. So what are you waiting for? You won't get better. Why prolonging your suffering? End it."

Even dreaming Spock felt tired. "Leave," he said but the other man remained where he was, laughing, all teeth and cold eyes. They kept walking through the fields of bodies, and it went on and on and on. Like a vicious cycle, never to be broken.

What was he waiting for?

He did not know.

* * *

There where memories and there where dreams and there were nightmares and sometimes Spock had a hard time to distinguish.

* * *

A hospital room. Earth.

"Morning, gorgeous," the man with the kind grey eyes said.

Spock blinked.

Christopher was sitting on his bedside, in that white metallic wheelchair, which has become the human's personal version of hell.

"Do you ever wonder how happy you've made me?"

"You sound rather foreign. Should you not be saying, 'You will be up and about in no time'?"

"I'll do that tomorrow, sweetheart. But, right now, I want to tell you that I fall more in love with you every passing day."

He took Spock's hand and kissed his knuckles making Spock's pale, gaunt cheeks blush in the progress.

"You should not remain with me."

"Why? Because you're sick? Grieving? Because you're not worth it? Oh, you foolish young thing…Spock, no matter what you think in that stubborn head of yours - I love you and I won't leave you. Not over something like that. You're not a burden and I won't discard you like some broken toy, only because things have become a little bit difficult now."

"You have to focus on your own recovery, Christopher. Not on mine."

"And I do but that doesn't mean I can't be there for you. In good and in bad times, remember, darling?"

"Do you ever regret…"

"..falling in love with you?" Christopher interrupted and Spock could hear the smile. "Sweetheart, no man can regret loving as I have loved you. I still do. I love you, Spock. I don't say it often enough but I do. I love you. I never could be happy with anyone else as long as you walk under the living."

Spock turned his head to the side and avoided Christopher's piercing eyes.

"I'll never leave you. Do you hear me? Not if you don't want me to. _Really_ want me to", Christopher said - smiling, his eyes full of reassurance and warmth. He pressed a Vulcan kiss to his cheek and then leaned over to kiss his forehead. His love sparked and surged across Spock's face like comets, making him gasp quietly.

"Never. I promise, darling."

Two years later he had to break that promise.

* * *

Sometimes he wished he would never wake up and sometimes he wished he would not have fallen asleep in the first place.

* * *

"Every time you have to talk to a counselor or have a physical check up, you look like you want to murder the next person who comes across." Pike said, dodging around an obnoxious woman with a stroller. He could walk again albeit with a cane but soon also that cane would be history.

Spock scowled at him.

"You are not delighted about your physical therapy sessions either." After particularly difficult ones Christopher used to throw temper tantrums like a small child, or he was sullen and withdrawn, not reacting to Spock's attempts to draw him into a conversation.

"Spock…"

"I do not wish to be pocked and prodded."

"They only want to help you."

Spock ignored him, until they had reached their shared apartment.

"Spock hey…"

"As I child I have been ill often. As a hybrid the healers did not expect me to survive my childhood and kept telling my parents to expect my premature death. I was treated more as a test subject than a living being and now I …"

He bit his lip; a mannerism that he had been hard-pressed to overcome as a child. However he was too troubled to be able to suppress it in that moment.

"You are a living being. You are _not_ an experiment and I won't let anyone ever treat you as such again," Christopher took a deep breath, and continued. "Look, you're sick. You're still dealing with the trauma of having lost so much. You need the check-ups; the medication and you cannot compare Phil and doctor McCoy to the Vulcan healers of your childhood. They're your friends. They care for you, darling. As much as I do. "

The human put a finger under his chin and titled his head up, forcing the Vulcan to look at him. Stubborn dark eyes met equally stubborn grey ones.

"Christopher…"

"You know what, darling. For being such a brave Vulcan," Pike said – voice sliding effortlessly from serious affection to teasing. "How about the next time you've your weekly check-up we stop by the bakery for those vegan muffins, you like so much?"

Spock had a sweet tooth, Christopher had discovered during the first year of their relationship, and he exploited it now whenever he could.

"Very well."

Christopher kissed him until he couldn't breathe, and then kissed him some more for good measure.

* * *

He kept walking through the masses of rotting bodies in his dreams. Spock kneeled down in front of one of them. It had no pointy ears, not like the others and its lifeless eyes were grey and not dark. They were human.

Christopher.

"You did this, young Vulcan! You did this," Khan said. "It is your fault. Yours alone."

Spock felt moisture running down his cheeks.

"End it," the other man said and laughed.

* * *

"There. There, get him - that's it."

Rough, familiar hands began to rub at his arms and offered fleeting brushes to his face.

"What...what happened?"

"Nightmares. He could also have an averse reaction to the sedative I gave him earlier or he came across another broken bond. To be honest – I think the stress lately is simply too much for him. He's not coping."

"I thought Vulcans can't dream."

"They normally don't. But they can. Especially when sick or distressed."

"What should I do? How can I help him?"

"Get some sleep, or at least some rest and relaxation – both of you. Try to hold onto him – the touch of his bondmate should be able to calm him at least a little. As much skin to skin contact as possible would be the best."

"About earlier... I'm sorry, Bones…"

"I know…"

* * *

Christopher pressed him back into the mattress, leaving his hands heavy on Spock' shoulders and licking into his mouth - no air left for urgency between them.

Spock was quaking under him, as the human's skilled hands undressed him without any hurry and for the very first time. His eyes were wide and he looked far too innocent, as he finally lay bare under the human's sturdy frame.

They did not stop kissing. Not even, later, much later, when Christopher rearranged the Vulcan's legs around his own waist, and pushed into his body, his edges fading in the dim light of the captain quarters.

There was nothing but the moment, the two of them, together – becoming one.

It felt like falling.

Emotions which were not his own were invading his mind. _Love. Desire. Want. Possession._ _The need to protect._

Spock turned his head to the side, shuddering out a breath, and Pike whispered gently " _Shh sweetheart it's alright…c'mon darling, fall with me...,"_ against a pointed ear.

"Fall with me."

Spock could not stop shaking and his head was spinning and he never had felt so loved and complete.

And when he fell, Spock said Christopher's name over and over again.

* * *

Some dreams now felt like reality and the reality like dreams. A blur of memories and wishes and the ashen taste of despair.

* * *

"Spock. Come here."

Spock emerged from the bathroom in dark sweatpants and one of Christopher's black long-sleeved shirts – already dressed for bed - and no shoes. He looked oddly vulnerable with his bare white feet and the baggy, unfitting clothing.

As he approached the couch where the Admiral sat, Christopher caught him by his hand and drew him into his lap. The young Vulcan shifted uncomfortable in his hold but the human didn't let him get up again. "Stay here with me. Just a minute. Okay…I…..just …stay here okay...? Okay?"

Spock settled against him. Still tense.

"I didn't think you would come back to our apartment tonight…not after…"

"I am pleased to hear that."

"You're pleased?"

"Indeed. I would hate to have become predictable."

"You're many things darling, but predictable is certainly not one of them."

"I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I have …"

"Positive."

"…but Spock you could've died down there in that volcano. You could've died because of Kirk's poor choices. I saw such greatness in Kirk. And now, I see he hasn't even got an ounce of humility. He violated a dozen Starfleet regulations, nearly altered a planet's destiny and almost got everyone under his command killed and still thinks he didn't do anything wrong. He's the captain. He's responsible for his crew and to make such a foolish decision ..."

"I did not die. No one was harmed on that mission."

"But you could've. You could've died, only because Kirk thinks he's infallible. He shouldn't have sent you down there." The human muttered darkly. The hand stroking rhythmically up and down Spock's arm was a soothing counteraction to his angry tone.

"Christopher…"

"You may be deemed fit for duty by Phil and McCoy but don't you think that I don't know that you're still hurting underneath, sweetheart." Christopher whispered against too cool skin. "Even a blind man could see that. I can't understand how Kirk could send a man - who has absolutely no regards for his own life - on such a dangerous mission."

"I am not suicidal."

"Then what you would call your actions down on Nibiru?"

Spock remained silent.

"I thought you were ready, but I was wrong. You'll take medical leave."

"I will not."

Christopher clearly fought the urge to roll his eyes and shake some sense into the stubborn Vulcan.

"Spock..."

"No, Christopher. I am not negotiating this. I am not sick. I am grieving. I will not ask for medical leave."

"Alright, alright," the human capitulated – for now; with Spock you had to choose your battles wisely. "I'm not happy about it, but alright."

"I do not ask you to be happy about it."

There was a pause, before Christopher folded both arms tightly around him, kissed his temple, and fell quiet. Spock turned his face into the crook of the older man's neck and inhaled, not knowing that this was the last night, they were granted to spend together.

* * *

"Do it," the man with the cold eyes said. The demand wormed into his thoughts and would not leave. There was a dagger in Khan's hands and Spock reached for it – hesitantly – stroking the metal with trembling hands. The blade nestled comfortably against his throat.

The Vulcan stayed like that, waiting; the stench of the deceasing bodies around them nearly unbearable. No one cried out, no one came to stop him.

It was, he thought, a good way to die.

He woke up with his skin crawling.

* * *

When he came back from his shift Spock was still asleep, curled around Pike's command shirt, slanted brows furrowed and his whole body shaking. He looked so small sometimes, so lost - Kirk never thought that a grown man, a grown Vulcan could look that way.

He crouched down before him and tenderly stroked his cheek. His skin was calm and cooler than usual. Kirk made a mental note to comm Bones later.

Confused, dark eyes opened slowly.

"Hey, darling...'"

"Christoph-"

"No..it's me... Jim…"

The Vulcan looked at Kirk and didn't seem to recognize him at all. His eyes were blank and glossed over. Even Vulcan faces held a little bit of expression, and mostly in their eyes - their intelligence and curiosity showed even when their faces were stoic and devoid of any emotions. However there was no curiosity in Spock's eyes - there were only lifeless, dark, empty pools of nothing.

"Where…?"

Spock tried to sit up, but his limps didn't obey him and Kirk had to offer his assistance. It was hard to see him so disorientated and helpless. He moved as if he was being dragged down by some invisible weight, having to fight against an immeasurable pressure for every movement, every inch, every _breath_.

"My quarters. You had a panic attack last night and Bones had to sedate you."

"How long..?"

"Nearly 24 hours. You woke up in between, but I don't think you where really _there_."

Spock's eyes slowly traced his surroundings. He looked worn down, looked unsubstantial like … like he was being erased, like he was slipping away before everyone's eyes and Jim desperately wanted to prevent that.

"I should …"

"You should do nothing. I know what you're thinking but no work for you Mister Spock. Sulu is happy to cover for you on the bridge and Lieutenant Smith is equally happy to monitor your experiments in the labs. Besides McCoy put you on medical leave…"

"I am not .."

"Sick? But you're, sweetheart.. You're."

"I am not," Spock repeated; voice weak and drained.

"You're grieving. With you Vulcans - apparently - it's the same."

* * *

The next days Spock spend in some kind of listless state.

Even since Christopher's death Kirk tried to keep close by, never allowing Spock out of his line of sight. Taking leave time from his captain's duties as often as he could, especially when the Vulcan had one of his bad days. During them Kirk took over much of Spock's daily routine, coaxing and guiding him through mundane daily activities - showers, eating, check-ups in sickbay, he even tucked him in, as he would a small child. And when Kirk was not there McCoy was, keeping watch over Spock, while fearing for the worst.

* * *

Spock did not resist as he was guided carefully from the shower and was wrapped in a large bath sheet. He felt lethargic and dizzy and Kirk tightened his grip on Spock's waist. The captain's touch burned with unfiltered emotions, and the Vulcan whimpered, quivering under the captain's steady hands. His legs felt like jelly - physically unable to hold himself up and swaying from the effort. He would have fallen if not for Kirk's firm grip around his middle.

"Woah…darling…give a guy some warning! For such a skinny bastard, you're damn heavy."

He could feel a heavy wash of complex, irrational, irritable, illogical emotions surge over him, where their bare skin touched. Their was worry, and concern and a loop of… _pleasebeokay beokaysweetheart…._ and he suddenly wondered why Christopher had loved him. Cold, unemotional being he was. Maybe whatever part of Spock that drew him was hidden away now, buried under betrayal and hundreds of tiny cracks in his sanity.

He did not resist either as he was taken from the bathroom and the captain was pushing him on the unmade bed. Spock was barely there as Kirk dressed him and made no effort to really help him.

"I'm sorry about Pike's shirt. I didn't know it was his, that you were still keeping it..," Kirk said softly, while injecting him with the medication Bones had left and then helped Spock to lie down. Spock looked up at him and said nothing.

"You can't do that, Spock. Giving up so easily, without any fight. That's not the Spock I know."

 _'You do not know me',_ Spock wanted to say but as so often he remained silent.

"I'm not going to let you waste away in your own mind. Bones thinks I'll run away. But he's wrong. I won't do that. You're not alone in this, okay?"

Christopher had said something similar months after Vulcan's destruction, as Spock's psyche tried to cope with the death of over eight billion Vulcans; as he had held him night after night, while Spock was shaking apart in his arms.

But now Christopher was gone, his promises nothing more than empty words.

After Kirk had shed his wet clothing (he always wore at least his uniform trousers when in the shower with Spock) and he had dressed himself, they curled up in bed together. They were both tired. Both worn out. Facing each other - the human looked at him with eyes too blue and too bright. They reminded Spock of Christopher – they were not grey but they possessed the same intense light, the same kindness. Suddenly he had to swallow around the lump in his throat. He could not continue missing Christopher like this, feeling so empty all the time, so empty that he finally began to pity Kirk and turned into a monster, which only was good at destroying people.

"I'm sorry, Spock…," the captain said softly. "But I can't change in someone else just to please you. I'm not Chris and I will never be him."

The Vulcan avoided his gaze.

Kirk reached over to stroke through his hair. "I don't want to replace your Christopher. No matter what you think…" The human's voice was flat and Spock remembered that Kirk used to be Christopher's friend, too.

"You were right, you know? I loved him too. He was the only father I have ever known."

Spock didn't say anything in return, just curled up tighter, and Kirk continues to pet him, like he would pet a Terran cat. The captain's hands in his hair felt wrong and at the same time the stroking was incredible soothing. The touch did not burn, not as much as it normally did. So Spock endured it, like he endured to be tied to a man he did not love.

Christopher had used to do that – had stroked his hair - usually whenever they where able to spend the night together. As a human he had taken to affectionate touches – there were stolen kisses (human and Vulcan) in their quarters, brushing fingers in corridors, embraces and hand holding whenever they had a moment for themselves. Spock had …liked it. With Christopher - he had welcomed the touches, the closeness.

With him he had felt content for the first time in his life.

But now there would be no more chess-games in the captain's quarters, now there would be no discussions about science, politics and ethics, now he never would be late for his shift again because Christopher had succeeded to coax him to spend a few more minutes in bed. There would be no more kisses, no more embraces, no more arguments about mundane little things.

There was no present, and no future - only loneliness and grief.

Sometimes he did not know whom he was most in mourning for. Christopher or the person he used to be when he was with him.

"Hey, everything will be alright." Kirk was breathing more than truly speaking, never ceasing with his soothing touches.

"You do not know that."

"I do."

Spock would have believed him, if Kirk wouldn't have sound so unsure.

Eventually, Kirk reached over and pulled the Vulcan's trembling body against his own – until they were tightly pressed together and their legs were intertwined. Spock let him and lay lifelessly in the captain's grip. Breathing in the musky, sweaty scent of the human, letting himself believe that things eventually would get better, letting his mind go by increments, searching for the empty spot where the bond to Christopher should be but only finding pain and the link to Kirk. Small, and fragile like a dying light.

"I don't want you to die," Kirk whispered into the Vulcan's dark hair.

'That …', Spock thought. 'That would make one of us.'

* * *

 _To be continued ..._


	3. Shifting Relationships

"How is he, sir?" Uhura asked the captain, as he left the gym; tired and sweaty. He had worked out late into the night till he was exhausted, pent up with worry and repressed anger.

"Better. Bones is with him. Checks him over." The stern quality to Kirk's voice would have earned him an eye roll from McCoy, but Lieutenant Uhura gave no such response. She continued to look at the captain with fierce concern.

"When will he be back on duty?"

"I don't know." Kirk closed his eyes.

Uhura looked utterly broken. ' _Why did you have to bond with him?'_ her brown eyes asked, looking directly at Kirk. _'Why did you do this to him?'_

 _'He would have died'_ , Kirk wanted to say. _'I had to save him.'_ But that would have been cowardly, and it would have been (almost) wrong. His motives hadn't been utterly selfless.

"Captain…"

"Yes?"

"I know what Spock looks to the untrained eye. God, help me. I know it. He's all dark eyes, pale skin and feline grace. He's like poetry in motion - at least he used to be."

Kirk said nothing.

"I know all of that…it's just..."

"Was that all, Lieutenant?"

Without waiting for a response, Kirk continued to make his way to his quarters.

"Kirk…"

Kirk stopped but didn't turn around.

"Sometimes you can spend too long on a one sided love."

* * *

Kirk woke in the darkness, knowing immediately it was too early for his wake-up call. He blinked, trying to figure out what had alerted him to consciousness, but it became clear in a moment. McCoy was comming him.

"Bones it's 0350, whatever it is, can't it wait until the morning hours?"

"How is he?"

"He's …."

Spock was fast asleep in Kirk's arms, his breathing mildly uneasy and his expression pained. Kirk clung to him, rubbing circles on Spock's back almost unconsciously.

"I've received another dozens of reports. Suicides again.."

"Again?"

"Yes-"

"But it has been more than two years…"

"Three exactly. Next month is the third anniversary of Vulcan's destruction. They still aren't coping and they can't repress their grief forever, soon or later every single one of them has to face their trauma and apparently that doesn't always goes well. Keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Yeah…"

Kirk lay awake until his shift began, counting every single one of Spock's shaky breaths.

* * *

"You're hurting."

The Vulcan remained silent but blinked in surprise when one of the Kirk's broad hands - unusual hesitantly - landed on the left side of his face, gently caressing his cheek, ignoring the Vulcan's flinch, and then wandered to his psi point, however referring from touching it. "You're hurting up there. Badly. And maybe…that's more of your Christopher's fault than mine but…I still feel…I …fuck…"

"Sometimes I hate him you know," Kirk said roughly and his voice was breaking on the last word. "I hate him…for leaving you…me…everyone."

"It was …"

"..not his fault? No, no…I suppose it wasn't. He would never leave you…it was Khan who…"

Kirk swallowed.

"He loved you."

Spock stares at him silently, standing in front of him, eyes wide and dark and empty.

"God, he loved you so much and if he could see you right now…If he could see how I…fuck.."

The Vulcan's eyes even remain blank as the captain reached for the his neck to draw him down onto his shoulder. "I didn't want to coerce you into this relationship…I never wanted to hurt you…," he whispered roughly against cool skin, before burying his face in Spock's hair, wrapping an arm around that slim waist and bringing him closer against his own body.

„I never wanted to hurt you…"

The captain's shoulders shook but he did not cry.

Kirk had never wanted to hurt him but in the end he did.

* * *

"I'm walking in a dead man's shoes, Bones," Kirk said, leaning against the wall which separated McCoy's office from the area, where the patients were kept. Spock was a little bit better these days, seemed more alert and Kirk could leave him alone for a few hours, so Kirk went for a walk to clear his mind and found himself in sickbay. "He sometimes calls, me _Christopher_ …you know…"

"Shit…"

"Yeah…"

"It's just...there are days when has trouble to recognize me. It's like he's captured in the past and he can't escape. Sometimes I think, he doesn't want to escape.."

McCoy didn't know what to think. For one thing, he was getting very mixed signals. While Spock calling Kirk "Christopher" and his listless state the last few days were _more_ than alarming, Spock did start to eat again - albeit poorly, and he didn't need Kirk's help to dress and shower anymore – at least for now.

But then Spock had always been good at hidding his emotional and physical state. At Pike's funeral Spock had been as aloof as ever. No one had offered him a comforting word. So very few had known about his and Pike's relationship. Spock had stood stiff in the rain, as they had buried his mate's – _his husband's_ \- body. He had seemed so indifferent, so unaffected by the funeral. Standing tall and proud. Unmoving like a rock. Only McCoy, standing beside him, had seen the fine tremors running trhough his slim frame, only McCoy had seen the weight loss, which the dark uniform coat tried to hide and the unshed tears in those dark, doe-eyes.

"He keeps zoning out…" Kirk spat, "… he hasn't meditated in months, he flinches whenever I've got my hands on his psi points and he isn't sleeping. Even a Vulcan has to sleep now and then but he doesn't. Not really. He still doesn't sleep through the night. He wakes up screaming, calling for Chris and I can barely calm him down."

"Are you keeping skin to skin contact with him?"

"Yes…," Kirk murmured. „I try to touch him as often as possible…"

"He's still reeling from the blow of Vulcan's destruction and Pike's death. You have to be patient."

"You always say that…it has been months since Chris' death and even years since Vulcan's destruction…"

"I'm a doctor not a miracle worker…what do you except me to do?"

"I don't know. I just…I don't know…"

* * *

„C'mere!"

Spock looked at him.

Kirk sat on the edge of the bed, toeing of his boots with stiff movements. There where dark circle under his eyes and his whole posture spoke of exhaustion. The last mission had been a disaster. Twelve dead and thirty wounded - ten critically; Kirk would never get used to this, no matter how long he had the captaincy.

"We're bonded, _married_ now – aren't we? So you're basically my wife now."

"I am not female – so I do not think that term applies…"

"Spock…just shut up…and c'mere…"

Kirk needed the Vulcan in his arms. He needed someone to hold on. He needed the comfort of the too cool body.

Something must have shown in his face because Spock came to sit beside him and Kirk drew him into a hug.

"James…"

"Just…only for a moment okay, sweetheart? Just let me hold you for a moment. Then you can hate me all over again. Okay?"

Spock didn't answer but didn't pull away either as Kirk tightened his grip.

* * *

They were on the Observation deck. After days of being confined to Kirk's quarters Spock had nearly felt claustrophobic and Kirk had suggested a change of scenery. So he had wrapped Spock in dozens of blankets and had brought him here.

There were few other people. Spock felt their thoughts when they accidentally brushed against him. The main sense was one of calm, but there were pinpricks of joy, of despair, of happiness and sadness and all the shades of gray in between. Spock's posture was relaxed the way it had not been since Christopher drew his last breath. Or, to be honest, since Nero chose to extinguish a whole race as punishment for the mistakes of one Vulcan - all those years ago. Had it not been for Spock, his mother, his father, his family would have been still alive.

Sometimes the guilt threatened to swallow him whole.

"You okay?" Kirk interrupted. He looked content, but there was a flicker of concern in his blue eyes. It was disturbing that Spock could read his moods so easily now.

"I am fine."

"I thought fine has various meanings?"

Spock raised his eyebrow and Kirk studied him for another second, then went back to surveying the stars. "Okay. Good. No small talk. Got it."

The Vulcan stared out the window in front of him. Kirk was humming a Terran song Spock did not know and thought about food and women and shift rotations, while people came and went. Spock felt suddenly strangely serene.

"I've something for you." Kirk opened the small package he had brought with him.

Cookies.

Spock blinked at him.

"Not replicated and no chocolate. I promise, darling."

"Captain…I…"

"I know you like them. I've seen you eating them before."

Spock looked like he was considering taking one, as Kirk smiled at him encouragingly, and said: "Very well."

The Vulcan thought of all the times, Christopher had bought him sweets and his eyes burned. He swallowed hard.

A large, calloused hand gripped him firmly on the shoulder. "Hey," Kirk said. "You okay?"

He was not. Kirk and Christopher had together destroyed a lifetime's worth of aloofness and control. Spock feared he would never get it back again.

"I do not know."

Kirk squeezed his shoulder. "It's okay…you know…it's okay if you aren't okay…"

Spock took a deep breath and the human drew him closer. They were suddenly alone.

"I cannot do this anymore," the Vulcan whispered and the human pressed a kiss against his temple.

"You can," Kirk said. ' _We're so fucked'_ , he thought.

* * *

"I don't want you down there. You're still on medical leave." Kirk snapped, voice holding that same brassy, demanding fearful note as it was common these days. "You're on a ton of painkillers and you're still healing."

"Captai-"

Spock observed the hard muscles of Kirk's stomach flex when he slipped into the bed, his hair still damp from the shower. The Vulcan sat up slowly.

"No and that's an order." Kirk shot him a glare.

"James-"

"I need to keep you safe, okay?" Kirk dared to worm a hand through the gap between their bodies and closed it around Spock's wrist. The Vulcan's eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath.

 _An image of the two of them, Spock's pupils blown wide open, mouth slick with spit, them kissing, Kirk's body covering his, moving in him, holding him down on the bed, hands intertwined …_

Spock tore himself away, so forcefully he ended up physically pushing himself back, coming close to the edge of the bed, fingers tearing into the stiff sheets.

"You cannot want _that_ ….," Spock whispered, terrified.

"Spock…I…"

"Is that the reason why you _bonded_ with me?"

"No."

Kirk tried to stop him as Spock hastily stood up but the Vulcan pushed his hands away, trembling hard. His heart was racing in his side. "Do not touch me."

"Spock…stop you'll hurt yourself…let's..talk about it…let me explain.."

As Spock turned on his heel and bolted for the door, Kirk followed him and tried to reach for his wrist but the Vulcan was faster and was out of his quarters before the captain could even say another word.

* * *

 _To be continued ..._


	4. Changing Perspectives

"Bones, do you have a minute?" Kirk said, standing in front of the door to McCoy's quarters.

McCoy as always wasn't impressed. "Yeah and before you ask – Spock is here."

"How…how is he?" Kirk breathed and there was an edge of despair in his voice.

"I woke up in the middle of the night to find him curled up on my couch, shaking badly. He didn't react to my voice or touch," McCoy said and crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

Kirk's eyes scanned the room, looking over McCoy's right shoulder; as if Spock was lying right there and he just couldn't see him. "Spock," and it came out closer to a growl than a shout.

"Jim.."

He tried again: "Spock!" And then he barged into McCoy's quarters, searching for the Vulcan in question. Spock wasn't asleep on the couch anymore but as Kirk reached the door to McCoy's bedroom, the doctor was already standing in front of it, blocking the way.

"What the hell is wrong with you, you goddamn Iowan hick?" McCoy barked.

"Is he in there?"

McCoy shifted, to block the door even more effectively.

"Move," Kirk said, trying to get past the doctor. "I can and will make it an order, if necessary."

"Jim. Wait," McCoy snarled. His hands were up, inches from physically touching the younger man.

"Bones," Kirk growled through clenched teeth. "I said move."

He was becoming an obstacle between him and his Vulcan, and that was never a good thing to be. However McCoy didn't move and glared back. "No. You need to calm the fuck down and listen."

"Listen?" Kirk gestured at the doors leading to McCoy's bedroom. "If Spock is in this room, that's all I need to know."

"No, it's not all you need to know. Spock's terrified, Jim," McCoy spat.

Kirk took a step back and looked at McCoy who towered slightly over him. "Wait, he's terrified? As in scared?" He asked. That had never occurred to him. He had been prepared to find an angry Spock, an agitated one but not a scared one.

"Yes, as in scared. You think there's another meaning to the word?" McCoy asked. "Our Vulcan's so scared that I haven't been able to sleep because he's projecting so hard, and I wake up with screaming nightmares." That explained all the coffee cups, on Bones living room table.

"I though you were psi null and he's a touch telepath. So without touching there shouldn't be any transmission?"

"I am psi null, but apparently that doesn't matter to Spock's telepathy. Besides, you're not the only one who has a link to him. Vulcans are connected to every person they once met. The links may be small, not full-blown bonds, but they're there. That's why it's so hard for them to cope with all the deaths, Nero caused. Spock's one of the only ten thousand Vulcan survivors which had almost every single bond, every single fucking link they had ever formed ripped out of their skulls within seconds and without any sort of warning. That causes trauma. Severe trauma."

"Bones, I'm not here for a lesson about Vulcan telepathy. Let me through. Now!"

"Look, I'm sorry for everything that's happened between you, Jim… It can't be easy.."

"What did he tell you?"

"Nothing…he didn't have to. His dreams spoke for themselves."

"Let me see him, please Bones," Kirk said in a voice suddenly rough. "I won't take advantage of him, you know me…I wouldn't do that…"

"He relies on you, Jim…"

"You keep saying that. Don't you think I don't know that? I want to do this right," Kirk found himself snarling. "I just don't know how. And I can't control my thoughts all the time…"

"Jim…"

You think I know what's going on with this?" he retorts. "For fuck's sake, I'm not even into Vulcans."

"I think wanting to have sex with a Vulcan does qualify as being into Vulcans, Jim."

"Asshole. You know what I mean."

"Sure."

"You know I would never act on it…not if he didn't want to, not in the situation we're in right now... God, he's my friend, Bones – do you really think I only bonded with him, so that I could fuck him?"

"Alright, Jim," McCoy said quietly. "But I'm not really the one you need to explain that to. Spock doesn't understand your motives, not after what transferred between the two of you. It scares him."

"I want to explain that to him. That's the _reason_ why I'm here…so let me to him…"

"No," McCoy said quietly. "You can see him this evening. He's sleeping right now and I want to talk to him first, and that's not happening until he's fully awake and lucid. Leave, do your captain thing. You can come back by the end of Alpha shift."

* * *

Spock dreamed of Christopher lying on the floor in front of him, fire spreading around them. The Vulcan felt his consciousness reaching out for him. _Anger. Confusion. Loneliness. Fear. I don't want to leave you, sweetheart._

And suddenly there was Kirk by his side, a comforting hand on his shoulder, a light in the darkness and pain.

He woke up screaming. Air burned through his throat and doctor McCoy was there, hopeful, needing, "What is it, Spock, what is it-" and he could feel the metal of a knife under his throat and taste the warm blood in his mouth and see the look in Christopher's eyes on that day, when every life left him.

* * *

"Spock?" Kirk spoke softly, kneeling in front of the Vulcan, who was seated on McCoy's bed, wrapped in apparently every blanket Bones possessed. It was the voice he used to talk Spock out of nightmares. The nightmares Spock never talked about, the ones that left Kirk listening to the Vulcan whimper in his sleep until the human sat up and just talked. He sat for hours every night, holding Spock in his arms, that first months after Pike's death and just talked until his voice was close to gone.

"We've to talk."

"Why?"

Spock's hair was messier than Kirk was used to, mussed from sleep and sticking out in several directions. His skin was too pale and there were dark circles under Spock's eyes, smudged and worn and ground in like they had always been there. He looked very young, more like a dying teenager than ever. There was a cup of probably Vulcan spiced tea on the bedside table, and a full bowl of strange pink soup.

"You know why."

Kirk moved his hand slowly, as if reaching towards a wild animal with a tendency to bite. The Vulcan tried to cringe away from the touch. Kirk frowned.

"I can never give you what you want."

Spock found himself backing across the bed as Kirk invaded his personal space and Kirk with visible effort stopped halfway in his movement and lowered his hand, which was in the progress of touching the Vulcan. "I understand that. I do. And I don't ask for it. But I'd like it if we could be friends again. We used to be friends, Spock. Before all of this mess started, we used to be friends."

Spock stared at him warily, and Jim – very daringly – lay his hands out across the bed sheets so that the tips of their fingers were brushing.

"I know how hard everything is for you. I know that I'm not the best husband, mate - whatever. But I'm your friend, Spock and I want to help you and I don't want anything in return. But I can't prove it– really prove it – unless you let me."

The Vulcan lowered his head and Kirk covered his bony white hands, with his own.

I know you're lost, sweetheart. But you've got to find your way back." Kirk said and fought his voice from turning it into the plea it was. "Fuck, darling…I'm slowly running out of breadcrumbs to give you to follow."

* * *

"Do you love him?" McCoy said, face stony serious.

Kirk shrugged his shoulders. For a moment, the doctor let himself see Pike in Kirk's movements. They had the same aura of confidence. They both moved like they owned the place. "Not enough. Not as much as he deserves."

"That makes the whole being bonded to Spock thing, not exactly less complicated – I hope you know that." McCoy sighed, reached for the bourbon and poured out two generous glasses.

Kirk took a seat and accepted the dark liquid. He had always enjoyed spending time in McCoy's quarters. McCoy's quarters were homey. They weren't museum-clean, but they weren't dirty either. There were PADDs stacked on his desk and a few dirty glasses, besides a lot of old-fashioned medical books and a picture from Jo on the shelves in the living area. The couch, Kirk was sitting on, was covered with a blanket and the whole place looked lived-in. McCoy's quarters were so unlike Spock's dream of OCD perfection, the Vulcan had turned the captain's quarters into.

"I do. I'm not good at relationships; you've said as much yourself. I flirt, I sleep around, I get jealous easily. I don't like to share... I've never stayed with someone for more than a few months; I tried, and it just never worked out. It's like I couldn't do it. I wanted to, with Carol I wanted to."

"What makes you think that you can do the whole relationship thing with Spock now?" McCoy said flatly, draining half of his glass before looking the younger man in the eyes.

Kirk swallowed.

"God, Jim. Your bond with Spock isn't a game, where you only lose money when you fuck up. There's so much more at stake. We speak about Spock's life, Jim. Why do you think I was always so worried about your decision to bond with Spock back in the day? I know how you're when it comes to relationships, how easily you lose interest or feel trapped by them. Remember that one time Carol was heavily pregnant, and you were so scared of becoming a father and then just vanished for three months and I found you in that shady New York bar, so plastered that you didn't even recognize me? That doesn't exactly scream I am ready for commitment and to take responsibility, you know."

"No, no… I suppose it doesn't. It's just…I was in love with her. I know I was. I thought what I was doing was the best thing for her. For us. I wasn't ready to be a father. I wouldn't be a good one. She, the baby, they deserved someone better. Someone less broken." Kirk said, staring down at his hands and then knocked back his own glass of bourbon. "Or maybe it was just the best thing for me. I screwed up. I know it and I can't promise I won't do it again. I just can try not to do it this time around."

"I know you think I'm a damn fool for bonding with him to begin with but I'd do it again in an instant, if it meant saving Spock."

"It's just— I know you, Jim," McCoy seemed to deflate. The bite went out of his words. "I know you have issues yourself. And I thought what Spock needed was someone who was whole." He paused as if debating the correctness of his assessment. "But maybe not."

"What changed your mind?" Kirk asked.

"Spock screamed your name this morning instead of Pike's, when he woke up from another nightmare."

* * *

 _To be continued ..._


	5. Waning Hope

Kirk was halfway through his paperwork when Uhura commed him.

"Doctor Boyce for you, sir."

"Patch it through to my quarters," Jim said tiredly.

A moment later, Boyce's wrinkled face appeared on his screen, looking concerned and aged. He looked so old, the lines on his face thrown into sharp relief by the droop of his mouth. Kirk mustered up a weary smile. He hadn't seen Boyce in ages, the last time they had met each other had been on their mutual friend's – _Pike's_ – funeral.

"Good evening, sir."

"Can you tell me, Jim - why Spock isn't answering my calls or messages?" Boyce asked.

Jim. A private call then.

"I thought he was in contact with you, Phil."

"You thought wrong. I haven't heard from the kid in weeks. I'm worried about him."

Kirk had learned the hard way, that Boyce had strong parental feelings for Spock. He was even more protective when it came to the Vulcan than Pike had been. He even had given Kirk 'the talk'. It wasn't an experience Kirk wanted to repeat ever again.

"So am I."

"He isn't getting better…?"

"He's still….grieving."

"He loved Chris very much."

"Yes..yes don't I know that. But-"

"And the price of great love is great misery when one of you dies. But still..we have to find a solution. You aren't qualified to handle a Vulcan with severe trauma. Spock shouldn't be up there with you. He needs help. Professional help."

"He has M'Benga and Bones…," Kirk tilted his chin up defiantly. "and I handle Spock fine."

Boyce snorted. "You're worse than Chris has been. One blink with his long lashes and you do everything Spock demands of you. Our little Vulcan has wrapped you around his little finger and you aren't even realizing it."

"I'm not in the mood for jokes, Phil," Kirk said, his voice full of exhaustion and irritation. "You're such a bastard sometimes, I hope you know that?"

"Because I tell the truth? Spock belongs in a hospital bed, not on one of the most dangerous ships the fleet offers. Besides you can't hide Spock's mental and physical state from the Admiralty forever. They'll find out and then all hell will break lose."

Kirk knew it wasn't safe for Spock on the Enterprise. Deep down he knew that the Vulcan wasn't ready to work as a science or first officer ever again. Even months after Pike's death Spock was more a liability than a gain. He knew it was only a matter of time until he had to ask for extended leave, and to pack Spock and take the next shuttle to Earth.

And still, he was reluctant to actually do it. The Enterprise was Kirk's home, was Spock's home. Earth wasn't. Because as much as remaining on the Enterprise wasn't safe for Spock, forcing him to stay planetside for the foreseeable future was going to simply kill him, both of them.

"I can't take away his work from him…I'm not...offloading him so fast.. I know he's broken and bruised and it's our job to wrap him up and keep him safe from the world…but..I.."

Spock needed his work, needed to be useful and taking that away from him, that was something Kirk couldn't do.

"No, Jim. It is our job to bring him back to the world but for that he has to start healing in the first place and he won't do that on a constitution-class starship. "

"That's not how I see it. I won't force him to leave the Enterprise.."

Boyce stared at him for a good few seconds, before heavily sighing. "Really? Then I can only say that while I will overlook Spock's poor judgement, I find it hard to overlook yours."

"Goodnight, doctor…"

"You can't just end the call because you had en-"

Without a further word, Kirk switched of the console and leant back in his chair.

* * *

"Hey," Kirk said as he approached the Vulcan, sitting on the bed in Kirk's quarters. Spock held an old-fashioned book in his white hands. The book was closed. He stared at it as if he could see through the cover. The book had been a gift from Kirk's mother - a birthday present when he had turned seven. He had read it dozens of times.

"Didn't know you liked Terran fairy tales? I used to love them. Especially the ones with happy endings. When I was a child, I always wanted to be a hero – a knight in shining armour, rescuing fair maidens, fighting dragons and bad guys."

Spock didn't respond; not even a flicker of his eyes. Kirk kneeled on the floor in front of the Vulcan. "Are you going to open it, sweetheart?"

Slowly he reached over and took the book from the Vulcan's grasp. Spock made a small whimpering noise at the loss of the object. His hands stayed in the same position, but he slowly looked up at Kirk. Spock didn't see him. Kirk knew. He looked, but he didn't see. His mind had wandered, to a place Kirk couldn't reach him.

"C'mon, darling, lie down. You must be exhausted. I'll read to you."

Spock went placidly where Kirk's hands told him to go, until they were both curled up against the headboard, the Vulcan's head on Kirk's shoulder. The captain flipped the book open and began to read with fierce determination.

He refused to believe he couldn't help Spock . He'd just try harder. He had to try harder. It was becoming his daily mantra against waning hope. Kirk would be Spock's knight in shining armour. He would help him, save him.

He would do it.

* * *

Kirk was aware of the rumors about Spock's health, but made no attempt to stop them. He couldn't muster up the energy to deal with them. Besides there were more important things he had to deal with. He had promoted Sulu and Smith to cover Spock's duties for the foreseeable future, they had more or less covered Spock's duties for the last months anyway.

However he couldn't bring himself to make it permanent yet.

* * *

The Enterprise was attacked. A Romulan blade tore Spock's back open almost to the bone before Kirk took his opponent down. Lying on his stomach, boneless, back warm with blood, the deck was cool against the Vulcan's pale face.

As his vision greyed, he realized that it was March 25th and it would have been their sixth anniversary. Pike had wanted to take him on a vacation to Vulcan, had wanted to buy a house for them there. A home. But Vulcan was gone and so was Christopher and Spock was bleeding out in the middle of a deserted floor, unable to contain his whimpers.

Kirk was next to him, talking too fast, keeping pressure on his wound and yelling for McCoy. "Holy shit – Spock – oh fuck, it's bad," The pressure was making him spasm and writhe despite the agony and _there_ was suddenly the doctor swearing. His back was a mass of pain but he was distant from it, from doctor McCoy, from Kirk, from everything.

He could feel his life seeping out of him, slowly but constantly, like his blood soaking his robes and the floor. The Vulcan meditation robes he wore were a gift from his mother. But his mother was no more and soon he would be gone too.

 _Finally._ Spock thought and closed his eyes. An almost smile making his lips curl slightly.

He woke two days later in sickbay, looking up at McCoy's concerned face and could not hide his disappointment.

* * *

"Spock," Kirk said a few days later, sitting at the Vulcan's bedside and staring at him. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Spock said, not really listening. Wondering if this would be the day it ended. Hoping this would be the day everything ended.

"For not protecting you…" Kirk said. "I should have protected you. I promised to keep you safe and make you happy. But I'm not good at keeping my promises, it seems."

Spock remained silent. Suddenly disgusted with himself. He had given up on his own life but Kirk still had one, and Spock had no right to take it away.

"You're lucky."

The captain reached out and brushed Spock's bangs back from his forehead. The Vulcan was torn between wanting to lean into the warmth of Kirk's touch or to recoil from it.

"Am I?"

"You've known a great love."

"I am not sure. Christopher changed me. I … _loved_ him but he changed me. If I were as strong, as unfeeling as I was before I met him, it would be easier now."

"Maybe."

"James," Spock said, and stopped. The captain continued to stare at him. The Vulcan glanced away and said, "I apologize."

"For what?" Kirk asked, his brow furrowing, perplexed.

"That I cannot do this forever."

* * *

 _To be continued ..._


	6. Inreasing Despair

"Bones, do you have a minute?" Kirk growled in his commanding tone, entering the doctor's quarters with his usual confident strides and a quite angry expression. McCoy wasn't impressed. It needed more than Kirk's fury to shake up the older man.

"Sure."

"I need to talk to you."

"About?"

"About Spock."

Bones groaned. "You always want to talk about Spock. Do you ever talk to him? What did you do this time? He needs rest! He nearly died five days ago! You can't go around upsetting my patients!"

The doctor's mouth was set in a grim line, and his hands trembled, as though fighting the urge to grab something and smash it. Kirk had rarely seen him so upset.

"Why do you always think I am the one who fucked up?"

"Jim, honestly, you're not the most tactful person on your good days and on your bad days you can get downright nasty." Kirk glared at him. Bones glared right back. "…by now you could already write a book about – how to offend your Vulcan in six words or less."

"Hey, it's not that I'm the only one who is good at offending him…Chris was quite good at it too."

Before Pike's death and during the meeting break discussing Khan's attacks on London, Kirk had observed a quarrel between them – or more Pike had been talking insistently to Spock and Spock's had been saying nearly nothing. The Vulcan's posture had been defensive and closed-off. They had been alone on the floor outside the conference room. Kirk had seen them through the half-open door. He had been standing a few feet away from them, so he didn't exactly hear what they had been talking about, but Kirk had been able to see that Spock had been upset. Upset and ill. There had been a sickly pallor to his skin and a fine tremor running through his frame. As the argument had continued he seemed to become even more unsteady on his feet. He certainly would have fallen - if not for Pike, who had steadied him with a hand to his chest. In that moment Kirk had realized for the first time that Pike and Spock were more to each other than Admiral and Commander. Pike had looked at Spock, like a husband would look at his wife – with love and worry and a tiny little bit of desire and want underneath it - certainly not like a superior officer would look at his subordinate.

"That's not a fucking challenge between you and Pike…"

"I have asked for extended compassionate leave…"

"You what?"

"I'm his husband – it's my right to take extended leave…Are you questioning my judgement now?" Kirk looked at him ready to fight.

"No, ….I just never thought you would lie down com-…. Nevermind…," McCoy suddenly seemed unsure. "I have asked for extended leave, as well. I thought if you didn't take Spock to Earth with you, I would. Phil is already awaiting us."

* * *

"What're you doing?"

Kirk stilled in his task to pack his belongings to see Sulu standing in the door to his quarters. The younger man lingered by the door for a moment before coming into the room.

"Packing…," Kirk told the Japanese, before he angrily continued to throw various personal things and clothes in the bags on his bed.

"Because of Spock?"

"Yeah…"

"Now you're finally leaving our sorry asses alone?" The other man grinned but every attempt to lighten the mood died down as he looked up at Kirk's sullen, desperate face.

"I'm sorry, man… for both of you…" Sulu paused. "I really thought you could work it out…"

"He isn't getter better …he's getting worse.. and I…"

"Do you really think leaving the Enterprise is the right thing to do?""

"I don't know…staying doesn't make things better either," Kirk replied quietly. "He's just...He won't let anyone try to help him. Not me, not McCoy….not Boyce…"

"Maybe he isn't ready to accept help yet?" Sulu suggested. "It's really hard to accept help for most people and Spock being Vulcan and all that – it must be hard for him to be seen as something other than in control."

"Yeah," Kirk muttered distractedly, "Maybe... I just- I... I've never seen him like this before. Except for the bridge incident - he was always so collected… at least in the beginning. He had never shown any signs of trauma those first weeks after Vulcan's destruction. But now his moods and reactions are all over the place. He's always on the edge, he's scared and apathetic and he's disappearing before my very eyes and now he got injured again and I…."

"You didn't spend that much time in each other's company back then. Maybe you just didn't see it? Spock doesn't seem exactly like the sharing type…? "

"No, he isn't…but…"

"Look," Sulu slowly approached Kirk's bed and sat down on it. "Jim, I can't... There isn't really anything I can do about this..."

Kirk inhaled shakily as he too sat down and put his face in his hands, elbows propped up on his thighs.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said in a muffled voice. "Fuck, look at me... I- I brought this on myself..maybe McCoy, Uhura…maybe they are right…I shouldn't have bonded with him..."

"I didn't mean it like that," Sulu said unusual seriously and laid a calming hand on Kirk's shaking back. "I just don't want you to think that I have some kind of miracle fix-it advice I can give you. I can listen. I can be there for you. You can always comm me but that's all. And that's also all what you can do for him."

"There has to be more I could do..," Kirk whispered, raising his head to stare at the Japanese - ice blue meeting dark brown. He suddenly felt a rush of almost painful affection for Sulu, for the fact that they've been friends – like brothers since the first time they fought together against Nero. How they've been on so many missions together, how they spend nearly all of their shore leaves together – having fun in bars – joking and drinking, being the carefree young men they still where underneath all the responsibility, how Sulu always had his back, about all these little things about his friend that he had nearly forgotten in the fog of despair and helplessness the bond to his Vulcan had brought with it.

"You're doing everything you can, Jim."

"No, I—"

"What more, then?" Sulu demanded, a sudden fierceness to his voice. "What more could you possibly be doing that you aren't doing already?"

Kirk sighed heavily."Nothing, I guess."


	7. Aimless Journey

"Spock?" McCoy whispered, before gently cleaning his pale face. It was a rare occurrence that the doctor himself gave a patient a bed bath - that was mostly the nurses' job. However for a friend he would always make an exception - especially when said friend didn't react that well to be touched by anyone these days.

"Are you with me?"

Dark eyes closed, briefly, before an equally dark-head turned towards McCoy's deep voice. The Vulcan blinked, hazy and confused. The bright sickbay light seemed uncomfortable for his eyes, so McCoy ordered the computer to lower it.

"Better?"

McCoy's voice was strangely gentle, as he continued to clean Spock's torso and then moved to his arms and hands - his movements were steady, professional and tender. He had certainly a good bedside manner when it counted. The Vulcan blinked again and the doctor smiled – a forced smile which didn't reach his worried eyes.

"We're ...we're going to Earth for the next months - you, Jim and I. Soon you will be able to see Phil again. Did you miss the good doctor?"

The morning after Spock had been injured in, McCoy had submitted his demand for emergency compassionate leave – which surprisingly hadn't be denied. Admiral Barnett, who within three days had authorized his demand, had been quite close to Pike. He had known - as Pike's superior and friend - about his marriage to Spock and certainly wanted the partner of his friend in good health.

 _"_ _It's the last thing I can do for Chris. He had saved my life a dozens times over when we served together on the Copernicus. Now I can finally repay him my debt,"_ Barnett had said – voice full of grief - and promised to keep things quiet for the next months. McCoy only hoped they actually could sort things out because the extended leave came with a condition – at the end of it would be a psychiatric evaluation and a performance hearing and if Spock would fail them, the Vulcan's Starfleet career would be a thing of the past. They would ban him to a planet side posting and he would never see the stars again.

"Spock?"

This time the doctor had expected some protest on Spock's part but none came. There was no reaction. McCoy nearly cried - or laughed hysterically. How could he just sit there and say nothing, show no emotion at all, when his whole life was about to change again? When he would have to leave the only home he had ever known after Nero chose to blow up Vulcan in a fit of rage and revenge and Pike drew his last breath. How could he sit there and look at the doctor with aloof indifference when the chance that he would see the Enterprise again was nearly zero?

McCoy would have screamed and cursed if he were Spock – but the Vulcan was as listless as ever. Not caring that he didn't have any say in his own future. When he looked into the Vulcan's blank face it was like looking into a black hole.

The Spock before Nero - who McCoy had not known that well - was all sardonic side marks, and sometimes shy, sometimes confident almost smiles, hidden behind a mask of logic, which also cloaked a lot of his insecurities. Insecurities that now and then would shine through whenever Spock was exhausted or injured or confronted with human's prejudice against an alien species. Spock after Nero was quieter, harder, more closed off, but still trying so very hard to move on. However the person who was sitting before him right now? Was a stranger, a ghost – not quite dead but certainly not alive either. Captured in a world between living and death. Not being able to go forth but not being able to go back either.

"We will leave the ship in two days. Your back should be mostly healed by then."

McCoy had already planned out Spock's, Kirk's and his journey. In two days the Enterprise would dock on Starbase 8, where they would get a shuttle to Archanis IV and then another one to Earth. There they would stay at McCoy's San Francisco apartment, which was close to the local clinic - the only one in San Francisco where one of the few – still alive - Vulcan healers regularly practiced.

It wouldn't be a fun trip in the slightest, and no doubt he would be in a foul mood when they arrived, but everything was better than seeing Spock withering away on the Enterprise, endangering the whole crew and himself.

He was under no illusions that returning to Earth would fix it all and now with Kirk accompanying them on their journey it wouldn't get less complicated, but it was their last chance. Spock's last chance.

"Alright. Tell you what. I'll give you a light sedative. We'll try codeine this time. M'Benga recommended it – no nauseating side effects for Vulcans. Sleep's the best thing for you right now."

He didn't wait for a response - because there didn't seem to be one coming – he rewrapped Spock's back and torso with clean bandages and dressed Spock with the same gentle movements he had cleaned the Vulcan's thin body and then watched the hypo take Spock down.

* * *

Kirk came into sickbay after - for the foreseeable future - last shift as a captain to find Spock dry-heaving into the toilet while McCoy knelt down next to him, speaking in low, soothing tones as he massaged him between sharp shoulder blades with a reassuring hand.

Neither of them seemed to notice Kirk standing in the doorway to the cleaning unit – which was attached to the sickbay room – Spock was staying in for the last days. The captain felt suddenly like an uninvited witness of an intensely private moment. He also felt startlingly angry.

He was so angry that Spock didn't jerk away from McCoy's touch. Angry that Spock didn't seem to be afraid of McCoy, didn't detest the doctor when he so very much detested Kirk. Angry that it was McCoy's and not his comfort which Spock's seemed to accept so easily. Angry that Spock seemed to trust McCoy when he didn't trust Kirk.

"What's going on?" Kirk asked snappily. "What happened?"

The curved line of Spock's bony back tensed as soon as he heard Kirk's voice. His face was flushed green, his eyes glassy and wet. The green tinge of his hollow cheeks – Kirk assumed – was partly an involuntary reaction to having been vomiting for the last couple of minutes and partly a sign of Spock's embarrassment to be caught in such a vulnerable situation.

Alert by Kirk's voice McCoy looked up from his crouched position and said: "Everything's fine, Jim. Our Vulcan here only had an adverse reaction to the painkiller I gave him and instead of calling me - he dragged himself to the cleaning facilities where I found him. It's all M'Benga's fault – ' _No sideeffects for Vulcans, my ass'_ …"

Before Kirk could respond, another wave of nausea hit Spock and the Vulcan again bend over the toilet bowl – coughing and spiting and shaking with the effort to expel the little food he had eaten. McCoy continued to stroke his back soothingly – like always – trying to avoid direct skin to skin contact when touching him.

The older man looked concerned. Kirk knew it could be dangerous for Vulcans to get sick in that manner. Vulcans - as a desert species - had a reduced gag reflex and whereas that decreased their chance of dehydration – it was certainly easier for them to choke on their own vomit if they should get sick.

"Jim, it would be the best if you would leave and come back later…" McCoy raised an arm and made a dismissive motion with his hand.

Another wave of resentment flushed through Kirk's body and he knew he should be grateful that McCoy was there for Spock but he couldn't. He couldn't be grateful. Jealousy was eating at him and Kirk was disgusted by himself.

"Jim, it really would be the best-"

"Okay, okay..I'll go then…leave you guys alone..," Kirk interrupted quietly. "Thank you, Bones for…"

"No problem, kid."

Kirk hoped that he sounded more sincere as he felt.

* * *

Kirk hovered as they made their limping way down the corridor. Spock insisting that he needed no wheelchair for the short distance from the turbolift to the shuttle – where McCoy and the rest of the crew were already waiting for them. "Ask me if you're an idiot, Spock," The human said, too mildly.

"Am I an idiot," Spock said obligingly.

" _Yes._ You're. I don't know what you think you're doing, refusing your pain medication today…and then the thing with the wheelchair…"

 _'_ _It is illogical to waste resources on a hopeless cause; on a life which has lost all value'_ , Spock wanted to say but he remained silent.

"You know you can't stay on the Enterprise…. "

Spock did not answer.

"Sweetheart," Kirk said, stopping. He looked pained. "Whatever you're trying to do, or prove, stop it. It's enough, okay? Is it about you and me? I get it, that I was-"

"Do not dare to say now that you were ' _wrong'_."

"I didn't want to say that. Maybe you should go alone with Bones…Maybe we should part-"

"Part? Go?" Spock's body clenched automatically and suddenly dormant nerves fired, indignant. "Go where, captain?" _Where am I going to go? My home is destroyed. My mother, my father, my husband – my mate – are dead. I am a danger to the crew and I am unable to fulfil my duties. I have destroyed your life as I have destroyed many others. My existence is meaningless. But I am now tied to you. I cannot leave._ _Even if I wished too._ _Never_.

Silence. It did not feel like a victory.

"I made my choice," Kirk said suddenly. "I don't regret it. I will never regret saving your life."

 _'_ _You made your choice',_ Spock thought. ' _I was not allowed to make mine.'_


	8. Dying Star

**Many are marking this story as their favorite but none of you reviews. Are you so afraid to be associated with this story? Or is it so bad?**

* * *

As McCoy had predicted their journey was a rather complicated one. Spock had a quite severe flashback, followed by an even more severe panic attack on the shuttle from Archanis IV to Earth. Kirk should have known that they wouldn't be granted an easy journey. The people, the different thoughts and emotions, the vibrating deck of the small, crowded shuttle - which reminded Spock too much of the last minutes on his planet, where the whole landscape had slowly collapsed in itself - it was simply too much for the traumatized, hurt Vulcan.

McCoy and Kirk spend hours to calm their Vulcan down, failing miserably until McCoy saw no other option than to sedate Spock.

The flashbacks, mostly followed by panic attacks were what frightened Kirk the most. Spock's panic attacks were like an explosion. From the outsider's point of view the Vulcan looked like he was dying. It was all - cold sweat and convulsive tremors, wet choking breaths coming too quick and too shallow, and Spock looking at Kirk with widened eyes.

To see Spock like that, being so incredible frightened – it was like observing the death of a star, or more like observing a supernova. Because most stars died a peaceful death, gently shedding their outer gases into interstellar space. However one in a thousand – the star whose mass was greater than about eight times that of the sun – died in a violent, brutal, dazzling blast. A supernova - and Spock's panic attacks where exactly that – a violent, brutal event.

There was nothing calm; nothing peaceful about Spock's panic attacks. Spock's terror was so great, apparently, so overwhelming, that it left the Vulcan shaken up and breathing heavily for hours and it mostly ended with him passing out.

Kirk had spent the rest of the journey, with a sleeping Spock in his arms and a dark-head on his shoulder, developing a new dislike for transport shuttles. As they finally arrived at the shuttle port in San Francisco, they hired a private cab to McCoy's apartment and after another one-hour flight they were finally home – or at least at McCoy's home.

They were too short of adrenaline, too tired, too exhausted and in Spock's case too groggy and broken - still having to fight the after-effects of the tranquillizer - to unpack or even contact Boyce about their arrival. So they spend the rest of the day sleeping or in Kirk's case trying to sleep. McCoy in his own room and Kirk and Spock curled up to each other in the guest room – the captain watching the young Vulcan sleep – memorizing his face, feeling the leaden heart in his chest ache, thinking _'I love you'_ over and over again but never saying it out loud.

* * *

As Kirk woke up the next morning and Spock was not sleeping beside him – he panicked. He bolted upright in the bed the moment he registered the Vulcan's absence and shot from it – still dressed in the clothes he wore the day prior and in which he had fallen asleep in.

His first panicked check was the bathroom, which was across the guest room. However it stood empty and overly clean. The second one – was Bones room – which was empty too, the bed neatly made and only twenty seconds after waking up Kirk was running down the long corridor to the kitchen, bare feet bouncing off the wooden floorboards. He rudely flung the kitchen door open – his heart racing.

"Spock!"

"Jim, what the hell?" McCoy grunted, frying something on the stove, which probably hadn't been used in ages. Boyce and Spock were sitting at the table across the cooking area. Both starring at him. The later, had wrapped his long spidery fingers around a mug with steaming – Kirk assumed – tea and had changed into dark sweatpants hanging too loose around his thin frame and a long-sleeved grey shirt two sizes too large for him. He was also wrapped in a bathrobe. According to the ill fit the shirt and pants where probably Pike's. However the bathrobe Kirk recognized as his own. Warmth was spreading in his chest.

"Spock…you're.."

"James?"

Spock's expression shifted in that strange way it had of not actually changing, but somehow displaying something completely different to what it had before. Reading him was a skill that had taken Kirk months to develop – and most of the time he had still problems with it.

"Take a seat, Jim," Boyce said, before Kirk could say something. The older man's face was weathered with laugh lines when Kirk had met him for the first time at Barnett's annual Christmas party, but now deep furrows were etched across his forehead, around his nostrils and lips and eyes, spreading down in webs of failing skin - yet another person Pike's death brought nothing more than pain.

He stood up, leaving Kirk his own seat although there was plenty of space left on the relatively big breakfast table and joined McCoy in the cooking area, flicking on the coffee machine in passing.

"It's good to see you, sir."

Kirk sat down, while Boyce unceremoniously jammed bread into the toaster. The coffee machine gurgled instantly and Kirk let his gaze wander over the overly full kitchen table. The food they had prepared so far could feed an army.

"Coffee, toast?" We have plenty – since our little Vulcan here refuses to eat again."

"Phillip…"

"Aren't I right, little one…?"

The whole scene had something domestic about it. It screamed family. A family Kirk didn't have for a long time - with his father dead, Sam gone and his mother non-stop working in space. Kirk as a child had loathed her for that – she always being away, leaving him and Sam with their uncle. As an adult he had finally understood – she hadn't abandoned them, she - as a single mother - had desperately tried to earn enough to sustain two children and herself.

"Want some vegetable omelette? Not that I would make you something else if you don't," McCoy drawled, shaking the frying pan on the stove with skilled movements.

"Omelette sounds good, Bones."

Kirk felt the first stirrings of true calmness, when the coffee aroma slowly leaked into the room mingling with the spicy aroma of whatever tea Spock was drinking. He hadn't remembered how pleasant it was to wake up and smell real food and real coffee and not the replicated stuff he had consumed for the last years.

"Hey," Kirk said quietly, so that only Spock beside him could hear him, while Boyce and McCoy where occupied with preparing more breakfast. "You slept okay?" The words blurted out of Kirk's mouth but what he really wanted to ask was for forgiveness. _Sorry for bringing you here. Sorry for taking you away from the Enterprise. Sorry. But it was the only way._

"Adequate." Spock's hands on the mug were shaking and Kirk reached for one of them, covering it in both of his own. Spock was still in no condition to truly refuse the contact of his mate although he probably wanted too.

"Oh shit, darling – your hand is like a fucking icicle," the human murmured, fighting the urge to rub it between his palms. Kirk stared at their hands, so did Spock.

Their hands were mismatched in size – the Vulcan's being swallowed up by his own. Spock always used to have long, thinner, fingers than Kirk – whose where callused and thick, but now Spock's digits where spidery and frail. Fluttering until Kirk cupped them in his own like pressing a dying flower in the pages of a book.

Johnny Cash's deep old voice filled the room. Someone – probably Bones, who was a big fan of the country-singer from the 20th century – had turned the radio on.

 _"_ _And you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt…"_

After some time Spock withdrew his hand and Kirk hesitantly let him.

* * *

The next weeks a daily routine was quickly established. They got up at 0830 in the morning, usually after a sleepless, nightmare ridden night.

It even got worse when the anniversary of Vulcan's destruction came and went. Spock had been screaming himself hoarse that night while Kirk had been holding him, had felt the vibrant pain of Spock's mind under his fingers, trying to think of something - anything - to say. However there were no words of comfort which didn't taste like lies and hypocrisy in the captain's mouth. So he remained silent, holding on to a man, who didn't want to hold on.

After they got up - one of them, usually Kirk would help Spock shower and dress, while the other two would busy themselves with breakfast. Spock would stumble through their cleaning activities, on unsteady legs – looking like a newborn deer – helpless and vulnerable.

Before they would eat – McCoy or Boyce would check Spock's still healing back and would change the bandages with worried gazes, murmuring about the possibility of infection or worse. Afterwards, one of them would take some readings with the tricorder while the other would check out Spock's mental activity.

During the day Kirk would try to engage his Vulcan in much physical contact as possible, touching Spock constantly, trying to keep him from slipping away. He would talk to him too about the crew, or the Enterprise, or science – carefully avoiding topics like (New) Vulcan and Pike or his parents. However he only would get monosyllabic responses – if any at all.

Spock it seemed wore his silence like skin.

Trying to coax Spock to eat was a daily fight, as were their discussions about him seeing a Vulcan healer or him taking his pain medication. Not that Spock would say or do much in these fights – he would sit there and look at them and wait for them to take action but he never would assist them, if they should do so. Sometimes when Spock was about to pass out from all the mental and physical hurt - Boyce would simply inject him with the so much needed hypo.

Whereas they could more or less easily bully him into actually taking his medication, they had no chance to get him examined by a Vulcan healer. Kirk didn't know why Spock was so afraid of them. He knew that Spock had a few routine therapy sessions with one of Starfleet's psychologists after Vulcan's destruction. Boyce had told him that the young Vulcan had attended them - albeit reluctantly - and with much prodding and poking on Pike's part.

The captain understood Spock's reluctance to see a doctor. Fuck, he hated doctor's visits too – no one expect maybe a hypochondriac – was eager to visit one. But Spock's responses were downright phobic. Kirk didn't lie to himself and pretend he had seen every angle, but what he could see was downright frightening with how afraid of the medical personal – especially of Vulcan origin - was Spock. This wasn't simply a normal fear of doctors, this was something darker, something a lot more deep-rooted, something that had psychologically crippled him and which had only got worse over the years.

Kirk wasn't a stupid man. He did know that Spock's decreasing self-worth after the Narada incident was certainly a part of the problem. Maybe even a large part of the problem – but certainly not the only part. _'Is this about you thinking that you are worth nothing now that you're sick? Or you thinking you don't deserve to be helped?'_ Kirk wanted to ask but never found the right moment to do so.

At the end of their days together - Kirk would be upset and frustrated and angry, hating himself for feeling any of it. He sometimes would excuse himself and leave Spock with Boyce and McCoy, while he would wander around outside, trying not to punch walls or scream, trying to clear his head - but more often than not ending up with a drink in some dubious bar - thinking about other ways to prevent that mental withdraw, which would eventually kill his Vulcan and as the evening progressed and the drinks increased he for a tiny relieving moment would even forget about McCoy, about Boyce…about Spock.

The relief however was always short-lived.

Kirk would come home, late in the evening, after the Vulcan already would have fallen asleep - drained and silent and fading. McCoy would scowl at him when he would enter the apartment - smelling of alcohol and smoke – and Boyce would be tight-lipped, his eyes glistering with fury. Kirk would ignore them both and slip wordlessly into the bedroom, he shared with his Vulcan.

There he would kiss Spock's dark hair and lie down behind the cool body, wrapping himself around the lean back, whispering apologies into white clammy skin.

* * *

When Kirk didn't took care of Spock, he often tried to educate himself more about mental and physical trauma and Vulcan telepathy and bonds; constantly questioning Bones and Boyce and even comming M'Benga and old Spock regularly, searching through Starfleet data bases and hacking into some password protected files about Vulcan culture. But no papers, no medical journals or case studies in the world could have adequately prepared Kirk for the situation he found himself in.

Spock's sickness was dictating their life, every single minute of their day and night. It was like an overwhelming shadow looming over them, coating their life in darkness and misery. All this tiptoeing, this eggshell-walking around Spock – it was exhausting and now without his work – there wasn't even a tiny bit of escape from all the agony and hurt.

The downright spiral continued as steadily at it had on the Enterprise and sometimes it was hard to remember that it was the trauma speaking when it was Spock mouth that the words were coming from.

 _"You should have terminated my life when you had the chance. You should have let me die on the Jellyfish…,"_ Spock said distantly one morning - like he was reciting a regulation rule and not speaking about his own death. It had been the longest sentence he had said since they returned to Earth nearly one month ago.

Kirk had wanted desperately to contradict his statement but somehow no words came over his lips.

* * *

"Hey, Jim…"

"Hey…"

It was just Sulu's weekly routine call. There was nothing unexpected about it, but for a second, all Kirk wanted to do was see his friends, his crew again. See Sulu, and Scotty and Uhura, see Chekov again… He gripped the edges of the communicator tighter, and the thin, blunt sides nearly crumpled beneath his hands. He forced himself to let go.

"How are you…?"

"I'm…good.."

"You sound like someone kicked your puppy and then killed it…"

"This call isn't gonna turn into a therapy session, Sulu…"

"Jim…"

"No… How is life on the Enterprise?"

"We have a new acting captain – Rickwick. He transferred from the USS Akira. He's not exactly an ass but he isn't you either…and I miss you, man.."

"Did Uhura make you watch those chick-flick movies again…?"

"Fuck you…"

Kirk laughed but it sounded more than a sob.

"But really, how are you?"

"I…"

"C'mon man, talk to me…"

"Sorry…it's just…"

"Spock?"

"Yeah…he…I…fuck…I never wanted to have anything in my life that I couldn't stand losing. And then I have met Spock and he-"

"You're expecting too much of him. He's maybe never gonna be the same, you know," Sulu reminded Kirk over the communicator while Spock was fast asleep on the bed beside him.

Kirk sighed at Sulu's words. "I _know_. Just maybe there's a tiny chance he will be. Will be okay again. Some things you can fix, and some things you can't and I just think it's a shame to walk away from the things you can fix. I mean, Pike didn't walk away either when I needed him. He could have – in that bar - but he didn't. And I-"

"Are you doing everything for Pike?"

"No…no….I…. Spock's my friend. He's family. I would have done the same for you too.. It's just…"

There was a long pause on Kirk's end of the line before Sulu finally said, "Look, I'm not just talking about how he won't be the guy he used to be. I mean he might not even..." The Japanese took a deep breath. "He might not ever get better. Even with your help. Even with all the help in the world."

"So I should just give up?" Kirk snapped, the words coming out more harshly than he had intended, and he was instantly disgusted with himself for letting his emotions get the best of him.

"I'm just trying to be realistic here," Sulu said gently. "I mean... Have you even thought about what you're going to do if... if things don't change? You can't care for him like this forever, and certainly not all on your own."

"I'm not alone."

"You know what I mean…are you ready to sacrifice your whole carrier, your whole life for him?"

Kirk swallowed but didn't respond.

"Did he see a Vulcan healer yet?"

"No Vulcan healers…," Kirk said – his voice suddenly small and bristle. "He …reacts badly whenever I or Boyce or McCoy even mention them. I…I already forced him enough with the bonding and leaving the Enterprise and fuck… I don't want to make him do anything he doesn't want to ever again."

Before his voice could break even more - the captain abruptly ended the call and turned around to stare at the Vulcan by his side. He stroked away the fringe from Spock's forehead, looking at him, seeing all the ways a soul could bruise.

The Vulcan was not even stirring.

Spock these days was like a star. Nothing but a beautiful echo of death.


	9. Difficult Choices

"Spock…can I come in…?"

There was no answer for a long time and then – an uncertain: "Yes."

Doctor Boyce entered the bedroom with a bunch of beautiful flowers. "Sulu sent these and also this little message." The old doctor cleared his throat. "May I?" With a nod, Spock gave him the permission to read it aloud.

 _The Enterprise's getting grounded in a couple of weeks for engine refits, so we got some extra shore leave. I'm spending the first two weeks with my relatives in_ _Kyōto_ _but as Jim has probably, hopefully told you - I and your other favourite crewmembers will visit soon. The flowers are an early hospitality gift. My father is a botanic and particularly interested in Vulcan's spare flora and fauna. So since you once told me about your mother's big garden on Vulcan and your love for her roses, I thought you would appreciate them. You'll get more when we will finally arrive. Don't tell Jim. I know what a jealous asshole he can be ;). - Sulu_

He stared at the flowers in the human's arms and fought back the irritating but overwhelming urge to start crying. These were the same kind of flowers, which used to grow in his mother's garden.

There was a shuffling sound from Boyce's side of the room – probably because he searched for a spot to lay down the flowers - then heavy thumps as he crossed the room. Then Boyce was sitting next to Spock, carefully touching his back. He rubbed small circles on the Vulcan's back, hands warmer than any Vulcan hands ever could be.

"Do you want to watch some movie together or some documentary? A rerun of Doctor Who is on by the way. I know Chris bullied you to watch it with him once and that you liked it," Boyce said a few minutes later, as Spock had succeeded to compose himself.

"I do not wish to-"

"Spock.. you can't spend the rest of your life in this room.. It has been days since you…" Boyce sighed. "Let's start small. What would make you happy?"

Spock just gave Boyce a blank look.

This was not something he had thought a lot about. It was not like he had a lot of time to entertain the idea of happiness since Christopher's death - not when he had to fight tooth and nail for every inch of sanity he clung to. Not when the pain he was in - most of the time - made it impossible to think about anything else.

His body and his mind had become the most treacherous of traitors, betraying him and leaving him in a state of total helplessness, feeling the intense pain in all of its various aspects but not being able to put an end to his agony.

"It's okay if you don't know," Boyce said quickly when Spock remained silent for too long. "Look, kiddo, I don't want to be unkind, and you have my sympathy, truly. But it won't bring him back for you to abandon your own life or your own happiness. _For my sake turn again to life and smile."_

"But Mary Lee Hall was writing about her own death, not.. about her parents'…or her husband's."

"Spock…"

The room was overly warm, probably because Kirk had turned up the heat to make the Vulcan more comfortable, but Spock still felt frozen.

"Sometimes I have this feeling that when I read a book or play my lyre or even participate in a chess game, it means that I have forgotten him…that I have forgotten _them_. Just for a moment. And it is that that I cannot bear."

"Ohhh little one…"

The stricken look on Boyce's face instantly told Spock that this was not the right thing to say.

* * *

" _Hi, this is Doctor Carol Marcus. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message at the tone …_ "

"Fuck…fuck…FUCK…," Kirk shouted, and ended the call. "Fuck!"

"Jim?"

When he turned around McCoy was watching him, two large bags in his arms and a puzzled expression on his face. "What's going on?" he asked. He looked more than unpleased as he saw the mess on the kitchen table.

The table was littered in glasses and some beer bottles, all emptied and all having been full when McCoy had left this afternoon with Boyce to do their weekly grocery shopping. Another, half-drunk bottle, rested on the kitchen counter, which Kirk leaned stiffly against at. His friend's eyes were hazy and dark when he turned his gaze to McCoy.

"Nothing."

They stared at each other for a good few seconds, before Kirk finally looked away und McCoy said – his voice clipped: "You should clean that up. Sulu and the others will arrive soon.."

Kirk took another deep gulp of the still half-full bottle with luke-warm beer, before he disposed it and somewhere out there, someone was getting their happy ending.

* * *

"Ohh… man…Jim, you should have seen Smith's face…" Sulu laughed, "He even looked worse than Chekov when he got so drunk at that one shore leave on Risa V that he almost married one of the locals, and the only reason they didn't go through with it was that he threw up on the bride."

A grin spread out upon Kirk's face.

Chekov took his vodka glass into his hand, took a large sip, and said, blushing fiercely, "Hey… thiz is unfair. Don't believe them, keptin. I didn't throw up at the bride. I threw up at her vather.."

The kitchen was filled with the smell of homemade food and laughter.

"Chekov the new Don Juan of the Enterprise…," McCoy chipped in.

More laughter.

"I bet it's that cute Russian dialect…that makes the girls fall for you…You've to be careful, Nyota..," Kirk said with a laugh.

"No, thanks. I've already found a more preferable dialect to study," said the dark-skinned woman with a grin and bumped her shoulder gently against Mr. Scott's beside her. His lips turned up into a bright smile.

"Kid…" Boyce whispered, looking at the Vulcan's untouched plate and his white face. "Is everything alright?"

Spock sat next to Boyce, as so often playing with his food rather than eating it, observing Kirk, who sat across the table, laughing at something Mr. Scott had said, before taking a large gulp of his whiskey and then a bite of the vegetarian stew McCoy had made. The doctor followed the Vulcan's gaze.

"It's the first time I've heard him laugh – really laugh - since a very long time."

"I know, and I do not want him to spend his life in sorrow."

Spock had seen the increasing despair and helplessness on Kirk's face despite the captain's best efforts to act otherwise, and he knew that he was the one that put it there and he hated himself for that. If it were not for him, Kirk could be out in the world doing what he does best – being a captain of a starship - and countless lives could be all the better for it, Kirk's very much included. If it were not for him – Kirk could enjoy much more such evenings with his friends. If it were not for him Kirk could find someone else, could find happiness. They all – doctor McCoy, Phillip, Sulu and Mr. Scott, Chekov and Uhura…they all could find happiness.

That was why he did not understand why Kirk had bonded with him.

Kirk claimed to love him. He had heard him whispering it a dozens of times when he thought Spock was asleep. But to the Vulcan - what Kirk loved was the idea he had of Spock. It was his own concept— his own self —that Kirk loved.

If he would have loved him – the human would not have ignored Spock's consent over and over again. As if Spock's life had been Kirk's and not his own. If Kirk would have loved him, he would have let him go.

"Spock…" Boyce's voice brought him back from his dark thoughts.

"It is just I find it hard to join in the merry-making."

"We haven't all been making merry."

"What it comes down to in the end is that our kind doctor McCoy, and Lieutenant Uhura over there, and Sulu and Mr. Scott and Chekov and you - you are all alive."

The Vulcan's hands under the table were shaking.

"But my husband is dead."

Spock's voice was close to breaking. Setting down his cutlery, he stood up.

"Please, excuse me."

All eyes were on him. The laughter had died down.

"Where the fuck are you going now?" Kirk suddenly snapped, giving him a disapproving glare. Spock nearly flinched at the sheer force of hidden anger he saw there.

His tone and words were startling. Spock knew the captain was no pushover, knew too how much of a hothead he could be, but the one exception to that rule had always been Spock. They had never shied away from being snippy with one another, but they had always known exactly how much sarcasm – even nastiness - the other could take and stopped before it reached that point. But over the last months Kirk had crossed that point more and more often.

"Jim…..calm down.." said Sulu carefully. "C'mon…You shouldn't…"

"Fuck off, Sulu…" Kirk growled. "Spock, sit down."

"Negative," Spock replied, and everyone could not miss the ice in his voice. His eyes had darkened considerably until they were almost black in a pale face. He looked sick, white as a sheet.

"Spock, I said – sit down."

"Why does everyone keep nagging and nagging? My husband, my mate - Christopher is dead! Can you not understand what that means? Christopher is dead and he will not come back. And now I am tied to you, trapped in this bond, my opinions and wants ignored as if they were meaningless. Is that not enough for me to deal with?"

"You heartless bastard. Do you think you're the only one who's grieving? Do you think you're the only one who's missing Chris? You're such a selfish brick sometimes that-" Kirk was not shouting yet, but Spock found that he wished he was. The Vulcan knew how to cope with shouting; he could deal with a shouting Kirk. The quiet, angry tone of Kirk's voice was something else entirely.

Spock straightened even more, which seemed impossible based on his already rigid posture. He hid his quivering hands behind his back and then closed his eyes for a short moment.

"I do not wish to discuss…"

"You fucking started it, so stay here and speak your mind."

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the endless ticking of the clock on the wall above the kitchen door. Kirk's hand clenched so tightly around the empty whiskey glass that it may have shattered soon. Then in a split second, his whole demeanour changed, jaw clenched and eyes stern, laced with open fury, he stood up and now he was shouting, his voice slightly slurred: "I said speak your fucking mind, Spock!"

"Hey guys…," Sulu glanced between them, clearly uncomfortable. "This is not exactly the r-"

Spock was out of the door before the Japanese could even finish his sentence, disappearing in the darkened corridor which led to his room.

* * *

When McCoy appeared a few minutes later in the doorway of the bedroom that evening, Spock could not disguise his surprise.

"Spock, he didn't want to hurt you."

The Doctor and the Vulcan stood in silence for a long moment in the badly light room which now had become Kirk's and Spock's permanent residence. McCoy was about to add something when the Vulcan spoke.

"I am not affected by his words."

"You're," McCoy said and then stepped in closer. They nearly matched in height, but Spock felt incredible small beside the human.

"How can I? Have you not heard? I do not have a heart. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone is wrong. You've one and it is broken." McCoy's voice was serious and his hazel eyes burned into Spock until they shifted, so he was looking at him with something like pity. The doctor reached for him and touched one of his bony shoulders, touched it gently with one of his big hands.

"C'mon, kid – sit down, before you fall down."

Spock wondered since when he had become a 'kid' to McCoy but let the doctor guide him to the neatly made bed. The human pushed Spock down on the mattress, before settling beside him, facing the other man.

"I suppose you think I behaved very badly down there."

The doctor looked at him for a long moment. "I'm not really very interested in whether you behaved badly or well, Spock."

"You are not?"

"No. I'm not."

The Vulcan blinked and tilted his head.

"I am not your co-worker in this moment."

"What are you then?"

"I'm your friend."

"And the difference is?"

"The difference is that I care for you." The _'I love you, you're my friend and therefore I love you and care for you.'_ , remained unsaid.

"I must apologize."

"Spock, you've gone through a difficult time. But now you must remember that although your Christopher is dead, you're still here. You're alive. You still can follow your dreams. You still have friends who care about you, who _need_ you. Me for once, and Phil and the whole bunch of annoying little idiots waiting in the kitchen and …Jim."

Spock swallowed.

"Jim…He cares so much about you."

He felt sick. He never realized that he still …in some way… had a family albeit not by blood and they loved him, and he did not deserve their worry. The room was suddenly stiflingly quiet, but outside there were sirens and loud voices, the low-level buzz of traffic and music. San Francisco never slept. Outside life moved on whereas inside these rooms time always seemed to stay still.

"The truth is – even if I wanted to - I do not think I am going to be a very good mate."

Kirk demanded too much of him. Wanted him whole. Wanted him fixed. Wanted a person Spock was not anymore – maybe never had been. Wanted something he could never give him. The captain wanted warmth, tenderness, the subliminal touch of a lover, and Spock, all he could give Kirk was an unfulfilled ache, and some frost from the frozen wasteland that was his heart, body and mind.

"Why not?"

"Because somehow, with Christopher's death, all the softness that he found in me seems to have dried up and drained away. Maybe it was only ever there in his imagination. I do not love James. I do not think I can love anyone anymore. "

"Now, my dear Vulcan. There's more than one type of love. The fact is, you have a straightforward choice before you. You must choose either death or life."

"And you think I should choose life."

"I do not think anything. It's your choice to make, not mine." McCoy shrugged, and leaned forward to cup Spock's cheek. It got him a surprised look and the doctor chuckled.

"But Spock.."

"Yes?"

"Chose carefully."


End file.
